


Questionable Truth

by Tarlan



Series: Cherry Falls [1]
Category: Cherry Falls (2000), Without a Trace
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-29
Updated: 2010-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 109,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sheriff Brent Marken goes missing, Martin Fitzgerald and the Missing Persons Unit have to find him. However, Martin discovers a lot about himself along the way as he becomes embroiled in a complex case that spans several decades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honorable Mention in the Media West FanQ Awards 2005

Brent Marken let his head sink back into the head rest of the cramped seat, feeling the fatigue of several weeks and his injuries pull at him. His eyes opened quickly as he sensed the flight attendant hovering over him.

"We'll be landing in New York in ten minutes. Do you need any help with your seat belt?"

He hated being so helpless but the heavy bandaging across his left side, that kept his left arm immobile against his chest, made it impossible to grab both ends of the seat belt.

"Please," he intoned softly, trying to hold his arm out of the way while the flight attendant fiddled with the belt in his lap, locking it in place and then tightening it securely. She beamed at him in a motherly way, and he half-expected her to lean forward and plant a kiss on his forehead but instead she drew away, her fingers brushing over his inner thigh suggestively before moving on to check on the rest of the passengers.

He swallowed hard, eyes glancing sideways to the small port hole where only a sea of grey was visible, trying hard to ignore the bumpy ride through the thick dirty-cotton wool clouds as the plane descended. One particularly heavy jolt sent his left shoulder bouncing off the fuselage, and he hissed, wishing he had delayed an hour before taking the last set of painkillers. He sighed. At least he had only one more hour to wait until he could take another dose.

Eventually, the plane passed through the thunderheads, the air less turbulent as they coasted towards a landing at JFK. Touchdown. He breathed a sigh of relief that the end of this flight was close at hand, hoping his soon-to-be-ex-wife, Marge, had passed across the details to his sister correctly. He was tired, and sore, and the thought of spending time at the terminal waiting for Ginny, or finding a cab to take him to her home in Upper Manhattan did not rest easy on his mind.

As he came through the gate he smiled softly in relief when he saw her waiting for him. Her eyes were big and green, glistening with unshed tears as she kissed his cheek.

"Hey," she greeted him softly.

He wrapped his one good arm around her, hugging her momentarily before he let her take his luggage. Together they crossed the concourse, dodging the crowds of people who were too preoccupied with their own destinations to notice his need to maintain a distance. He hissed as one man brushed past him, knocking his bad arm, but he pushed onwards, following Ginny to the small coffee bar and taking a seat. His confusion must have registered as she spoke before he could ask.

"It's the start of the rush hour. If we wait another half an hour before starting out then the worst will be over and we'll make better time. You allowed coffee?"

"Strong and black... no sugar." His words giving her all the answer she needed.

She grinned at him, a female reflection of his grin when he had the heart to find one within him. As he watched her thread through the crowd to order up two coffees, he began to wonder when he had last grinned in that carefree way. Certainly it had not been since before the first of the 'virgin killings', as it had been dubbed by the Press.

How long ago had that been now? Days? Weeks? Certainly not months though he seemed to have been in pain forever.... possibly since the whole thing started twenty-five years ago. He'd been a boy then. Young, foolish, believing he had the world at his feet... and drunk... very, very drunk. Too drunk at the time to change the course of events that would haunt him through a quarter century of his life.

His tired eyes scanned the crowded concourse as he waited for Ginny, his eyes darting back when he thought he recognized a figure in the heaving mass of humanity. He shook his head, knowing his eyes were most likely playing tricks on him, urged on by a fatigued mind that constantly dwelled on a young woman with a single white streak through long dark hair.

Ginny slid into the seat opposite after placing a coffee in front of him, and he dredged up a smile of thanks before taking a sip. It was hot, burning his lips and his tongue, and he hollowed his cheeks in shock, trying to cool the liquid before venturing to swallow it. He grimaced at the heat burning down his throat.

"It's hot." Ginny said with a grimace as she sipped at her own coffee, though hers had at least been cooled by the addition of cream.

"Just figured that out." His smile was a little more genuine this time, and he reached over with his good hand, laying it over Ginny's. "Thanks. For being here."

They spoke for a while and then Brent spotted the men's wash room.

"You mind waiting here a sec... I need to...You know, those airplane facilities are too damn cramped especially when..." He indicated towards his bandaged arm and chest. She nodded, and watched him cross the concourse until his figure disappeared within the crowd of rushing people.

-ooOOoo-

Missing Three Hours:

Jack Malone rifled through the file he'd been handed and then gathered up all the relevant documents, striding swiftly to where the rest of his team worked. In their line of work their hours were often erratic so he was not surprised to see all of them present having only just completed the last of the paperwork from the previous missing person's case.

He dropped the pile of folders onto the conference table, pulled out a photograph and then went up to the expansive white board. Someone, probably Martin, had already taken down the photo of Angela McCormack, and he felt sadness steal over him in remembrance of the small girl that had been found by joggers in a shallow grave in Central Park. The case had been handed over to Homicide, with the last few reports sent in barely fifteen minutes earlier.

He wished he could give his team a small respite; a chance to deal with the grief that followed whenever they 'lost' one, especially when it was a child. The only consolation, for what it was worth, was that they had found the girl. It was far worse when they had to scale down the search, leaving the case open and unsolved, perhaps never learning the fate of that missing person.

Jack placed the photo on the board, wrote in the case number and turned around, unsurprised to see his team already taking their seats with intrigue vying with frustration and grief in their eyes. Each new case was a mystery that needed to be solved with success giving the sort of high that adrenaline junkies thrived on. On another level, each case gave them the opportunity to delve into someone else's life for a short time, and to forget their own.

Jack grimaced, knowing that he had forfeited his marriage for this need to piece together the jigsaw of some other person's life, and find the missing pieces that would lead them to the person. How much had the others given up to be here? Or were they just beginning to learn the cost of being in the FBI?

"Okay, listen up everyone. We have a missing male Caucasian, age 43, six foot, blond/brown hair, green eyes... Sheriff Brent Marken. Arrived at JFK on the 16:35 shuttle. His sister, Virginia Allen met him. They had coffee to wait out the rush hour. He went off to use the men's wash room... and disappeared."

Martin leaned forward in his seat. "Sheriff?"

"Of Cherry Falls, New England."

"The 'Virgin Killer' case. Wasn't he involved in it all somehow?" Martin's eyes creased up in thought as he stared at the handsome face looking back from the white board.

"And that's why we need to find him... plus he's just been released from hospital against the wishes of his doctors, and he disappeared without taking the heavy duty painkillers prescribed to him. Man's going to be in a lot of pain by now... and not the sort that a couple of Tylenol will help."

"Why've we got this one?" Danny Taylor leaned in as well, hands splayed on the table top in front of him. "If he's running then the FBI have other teams--"

"At this moment he's not wanted by the FBI in connection with any crime, and there is no reason to believe there was any foul play--"

"Except that he'd run off without his painkillers," Vivian Johnson's wry tone brought a twist of a smile to Jack's face. They'd both had their share of injuries and knew how necessary those extra strength painkillers could be.

"Samantha, I want you and Danny to go check out the airport. Talk to the coffee bar staff, janitors, taxi drivers... someone must have seen him." His eyes moved around the table. "Martin... as you know so much about it already, you can gather all the info about this 'Virgin Killer' case."

Martin's blue eyes sparkled with curiosity, and Jack wondered if he was ever so resilient, bouncing back so quickly from the frustration of a sour case. Inwardly, he sighed, knowing that each of his team dealt with their feelings in different ways. If this new case had not been made a priority for the Missing Persons Team then Vivian would have gone home to cuddle her daughter, Samantha would have gone to find laughter with friends, and Danny would have worked out his frustrations on the basketball court, or beat the crap out of a punch bag at the gym.

Jack had no idea what Martin would do. He seemed to be the first one in and last one out each day, as if he had no life beyond his job. It occurred to Jack that perhaps he didn't have a life outside of this office. Martin was still the new boy on the team, and new to the city too, having left his family and friends in Washington DC, and New York could be a lonely place for someone new in town.

"You think it's connected." Martin's blue eyes had widened fractionally.

"At his point in time... it's all connected until we rule it out." He turned to face the petite black woman who was his right hand. "Vivian and I will go see the sister."

Samantha stood up, looking down at Danny as he leafed through the case notes that Jack had slid along the table. "Going to be hard getting anyone to remember a single face in a crowd at the airport."

Danny grinned up at her with his usual optimism. "True... they might not recall a single face BUT they might recall a man with a heavily bandaged left shoulder." He passed across a news photo taken five hours earlier of Brent Marken leaving the hospital, running the gauntlet of angry people and of reporters investigating the 'Virgin Killer' case. The bandaging was obvious even beneath the lightweight jacket.

"That might do it," she answered with a smile, and then grabbed her coat, leading the way out of the office with Danny in tow.

-ooOOoo-

Martin barely registered the others leaving as he sat down in front of his PC and began accessing files pertaining to Leonard Marliston, dubbed the 'Virgin Killer'. He already knew a fair amount about this case from the media coverage but that was not the same as reading the official reports, knowing there would be no supposition or sensationalism within -- just the raw facts.

Marliston's first victims had been a young boy and girl, kissing and petting in the boy's car at a well known lover's haunt around the small town of Cherry Falls. The first to arrive at the scene had been the town's Deputy Sheriff Mina, who called it in to the sheriff, Brent Marken. Unlike her boyfriend, Stacy Twelfmann had not died instantly. She had been tied to a tree and slowly sliced with a knife until she died of shock and blood loss. Her boyfriend had been stabbed repeatedly in a vicious frenzy, as if Marliston had worked off his anger on the boy's innocent flesh, leaving him calm and methodical in his torture of the girl.

Martin stared at the photos taken from the scene. He saw blood splattered everywhere that told its own macabre story of how the frightened teens had tried to escape their killer and hence, their terrifying fate. He felt his heart twist in grief for them, his feelings of inadequacy still too fresh from losing little Angie McCormack, even though her body had been placed in that tiny grave before the team had even reached the store from where she had been snatched.

He looked up at the photo on the white board and wondered how Marken must have felt that day, seeing the aftermath of two lives brutally taken, standing amid the blood and gore. He might even have known the parents for it was a small town, and both kids attended the same high school as his daughter... and both were in the same grade. Martin recalled his own grief as he and his colleagues stood just beyond the crime scene tape as the Coroner zipped Angie McCormack's small body into a bag to take to the morgue.

He shook his head, and focused on the new case.

The FBI had become involved when the killer struck again, upping his status to 'serial killer'. This time it was a girl alone in her house after her parents had gone out dining for the evening. They had returned to find their only child nailed to a cartwheel on the ceiling of their reception room; her body slashed and mutilated. She had died just as slowly as Stacy Twelfmann, and just as violently.

FBI agents Bronhill and Majestik had written their reports, attaching a copy of the Coroner's that revealed the killer's signature; the word 'virgin' carved into the flesh of each victim. Though the Coroner could be certain that the word applied to both girls, mainly because the hymen was still unbroken, he could only state that the boy had been sexually inactive at the time of his death. None of the victims had been sexually assaulted by their killer. It had been a major clue, emphasizing that the killer had been close enough to all three victims to know how sexually active they were, so it did not surprise Martin that the killer had turned out to be a teacher at the high school.

As he read on, he could envisage the mounting horror as Marliston turned his attention to Marken's daughter, Jody.

That final night had culminated in a rampage of terror as kids from the local high school arranged a party to remove themselves from the killer's hit list by losing their virginity. Marliston murdered the high school principle, Tom Sisler, and then kidnapped both Jody Marken and her father. However, Jody escaped with the help of her boyfriend, who had come looking for her, and Marliston then killed one of Marken's officers as he gave chase. He slashed his way through the party of kids at the old Lodge, and was only stopped when Jody pushed him off the balcony onto the wrought iron fence below. Even so, he had lived long enough to grab at another kid, intending to take one last victim with him, but several bullets fired by Deputy Mina had ended his violent rampage.

Marken had been found in Marliston's basement, having been dealt two potentially fatal blows from an axe during an attempt to stop the killer and give his daughter a chance to escape. However, evidence showed that he must have disturbed Marliston during the murder of Tom Sisler for he had head injuries that Forensics linked back to an blood covered object in Sisler's office; the DNA testing matched the blood to Brent Marken.

It should have ended there but people wanted to know why. Why had this intelligent, mild and pleasant young teacher at the high school -- Leonard Marliston -- turned into a blood-crazed killer? What had Tom Sisler to do with it? He was the only adult intentionally murdered, found tied to a chair in his office with the words 'Not Virgin' carved into his forehead.

However, anomalies suggested that Marken had been another intended victim.

When Marken discovered Tom Sisler's mutilated body, Marliston had knocked him unconscious rather than kill him outright -- as he had done with officer charged with watching over the kids at the 'cherry popping' party. Then he had kidnapped Marken, binding and gagging him with duct tape, and transporting him to his basement inside an old trunk used by the drama department at the school.

What linked the two men -- Brent Marken and Tom Sisler? He had a feeling that the answer to that question lay in the most recent newspaper accounts that he had yet to read because of his deep involvement in the search for little Angie -- and in Leonard Marliston's past.

The phone rang as Martin pulled up newspaper articles pertaining to the case while he waited for access to the personal records on Leonard Marliston. He picked up the phone just as the Marliston details began to scroll onto the screen.

"It's Jack. Marken's daughter, Jody, is on a flight due to land at JFK in one hour. I want you to meet her and bring her back to the office."

"Will do."

Martin pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and pulled it on as he strode towards the elevator. In his hand he clutched at the Marliston file, quickly printed off in the knowledge that he would have time to read it while he waited for Jody Marken's flight to arrive. He stopped on the threshold of his work area and looked back at the white board. There was something about Brent Marken that caught at his senses. Something in the way he half-smiled; something haunting his eyes, and Martin felt a strange need to discover exactly what that could be.

-ooOOoo-

Jack took a seat on the plush sofa opposite Virginia Allen while Vivian took a seat closer, a notebook lying on her lap. He listened as Virginia recounted the way she had greeted her brother just beyond the arrivals gate, recalling how withdrawn he had seemed with his face lined with the physical pain that he couldn't hide. She had suggested that they wait out the early evening rush, and led him over towards a small coffee bar which had a modicum of privacy in case he wanted to talk.

Virginia leaned forward and picked up her coffee, taking a sip and her mind rushed back to when she had last seen and spoken to Brent...

-ooOOoo-

"It's hot." Ginny said with a grimace as she sipped at her own coffee, though hers had at least been cooled by the addition of cream.

"Just figured that out." His smile was a little more genuine this time even though he'd obviously burned his mouth on the scalding black coffee, and he reached over with his good hand, laying it over Ginny's. "Thanks. For being here."

"That's what sisters are for, Brent." Her expression turned serious. "How's Jody taking all this?"

She didn't elaborate, knowing it had to be a double blow to hear that her parents had finally given up on their sham of a marriage. They could have timed it better, perhaps waited for the dust to settle from the Marliston case before making this decision but Ginny had known the marriage was dead almost from the start. Brent had only married Marge to cast aside aspersions pertaining to his sexual preferences, having been labeled a 'faggot' more than once because of his shyness with the opposite sex. She knew he didn't love Marge but he had known her from second grade, and so she was like a worn, familiar blanket that he could use to hide under.

It took seven years for him to give her the child she craved and Ginny understood why after a drunken revelation from Marge many years earlier. It took an act of sex to have a child... and there had been precious little of that in their marriage. Her thoughts centered back on Brent as he sighed heavily.

"She doesn't know. Jody thought I'd be coming straight home from the hospital. But Marge thought it might be for the best if I... went away." He ducked his head. "She'd barely left my side since..."

He couldn't say it, and Ginny realized that he couldn't yet deal with the fact that he'd almost been chopped into firewood by a man who thought Brent was his father... and who hated him for it.

"She thought she saw Loralee Sherman after the FBI interviewed her, just after I came out of surgery, and she didn't want to leave in case..." His words drifted of again, his eyes taking on a faraway look of remembered horror.

"Jody's got a lot of you in her. This need to protect--"

"I didn't protect Loralee--"

"You were drunk, Brent. You were so drunk you could barely walk let alone... *do*... what she accused the four of you of doing." She grabbed at his fingers. "You didn't rape her... but maybe at least one of the others did."

"I couldn't remember anything at the time. Just images... flashes of moments that were meaningless even after her father made those accusations. Yet I knew what I was doing, I knew what was happening to her... to me... but it was all outside of my own body, and there was no struggling. All I can really remember is that she just lay there... so still. I can't describe... such a contradiction."

"I know." She spoke soothingly as if to a distressed child. "Alcohol has that effect on some people... and drugs."

"I've never taken drugs--"

"You did that night. Tom Sisler slipped them into your drink when you weren't paying attention. He told me that ten years back. Perhaps he drugged her too."

She read the abhorrence in his eyes. "You'd kept in touch with Tom?"

"For a while... not so much after he married Carolyn, but he contacted me when he was offered the Principle's job in Cherry Falls. You were already Sheriff then, and he wanted to know if he ought to take it or not... because of you."

"I had a few misgivings when he took the job. Mostly because of the past."

He leaned back in his seat and wiped his hand across his fatigue-lined face, and they sat in silence for perhaps five minutes, nursing the cooling coffee. Ginny glanced at her wristwatch.

"The main rush will be over soon... and you're tired. You can rest as soon as we get home."

"You mind waiting here a sec... I need to... you know those airplane facilities are too damn cramped especially when..." He indicated towards his bandaged arm and chest. She nodded her agreement, understanding all too well how difficult it was using the plane facilities when able-bodied let alone while incapacitated, and the flight would have been a little bumpy too. As he made to stand she heard him grunt softly with pain.

"Did the doctors prescribe any painkillers?"

"Yeah... but I can't take them for at least another half an hour." He delved down the small flight bag and brought out a small plastic tub packed with tablets, rattling it once before replacing it in the bag. "See, mother?"

She watched him cross the concourse, taking the last few sips of her cold coffee, his figure disappearing in the crowd of rushing people...

-ooOOoo-

Jack nodded his head, as Ginny's eyes lost that faraway look that people tended to get when they were recalling scenes from the past.

"I waited about ten minutes. Thought he might be having a little trouble... because of the arm..." She shrugged, looking faintly embarrassed at raising such a delicate issue. "After that I started to get a little concerned so I went across." Her face took on a pinkish tinge. "It was so embarrassing. I had to ask a man if he wouldn't mind checking the wash room... in case Brent was in difficulty or... But, according to the wash room attendant, no one fitting Brent's description had gone in."

Jack knew that Danny and Samantha would be questioning the attendant to confirm this but he knew, instinctively, that Virginia Allen was telling the truth. Brent Marken had disappeared between leaving the coffee bar and reaching the wash room.

Vivian continued to ask her questions in the hope of prompting some memory. Often, the last person to see the missing person had seen something out of the ordinary but had not realized that it was important.

"Do you recall there being anyone taking more than a passing interest in your brother?"

Virginia shook her head slowly. There had been a few looks but mostly aimed at the heavy bandaging, and there had been the fleeting glances of passers-by... except for one man.

"There was a man. He took a seat about twenty... thirty feet away and took out a newspaper. But I caught him staring across at us the once. Next time I looked up he'd gone so... so it's probably nothing."

"Could you describe this man?"

She shook her head. "White. Dark hair... and he wore a scruffy denim jacket. That's what made me notice him. Didn't seem the type to be reading the Times."

The cellphone in Jack's pocket trilled, and he took it out with an apology, moving away to answer the call. Samantha spoke.

"Jack? We talked to the wash room attendant. He recalls Virginia Allen asking about her brother, and confirms that no one fitting Marken's description came in."

"Ask him another question. Ask him if he recalls a white Caucasian, dark hair, wearing a scruffy denim jacket around the same time."

Silence reigned for a beat while Samantha absorbed the request and though he could hear the question in her tone as she agreed to follow his request, she did not voice her curiosity. When he replaced the phone in his jacket pocket and turned back, he noticed that Vivian was gathering up her papers. She had a strong instinct of knowing when there would be no more answers forthcoming and he watched as she handed over a card with the number for the Missing Person's Unit.

Jack walked to the door with even more questions filling his head, becoming more convinced that Marken's disappearance had something to do with the Marliston case. He glanced at his watch. Marken had been missing for over four hours now, and he hoped Jody Marken might be able to give them a clue where to look for him.

-ooOOoo-

The grave stood alone, with weeds and grass choking the freshly hewn stone as if it had stood there for years rather than weeks, and with the brown and withered remnants of a wreath crumbling against it. No one came here to tend the grave. No one placed fresh flowers each week in memory of the life buried deep within the earth below this neglected marker. Above her were dark clouds swollen with rain that threatened to fall at any moment. Jody looked at the words carved into the pitted surface of the grey slab of granite.

Brent Marken... beloved husband and father.

As she watched, droplets of blood welled from the stone, running in tiny rivulets down the furrows made by the letters, pooling at the base of the stone. A flash of steel glinted brightly as if sunlight had found a tear in the curtain of dark grey sky, and the stone cracked, split by the falling axe, the sound reverberating through her...

Her eyes snapped open, shocked out of her nightmare as the overhead compartment slammed shut. The man gave her an apologetic look as he took his seat, having replaced a novel in his carry-on luggage. She watched him for a moment as he settled, wishing she had taken the time to bring something to read, anything to take her mind off the past two weeks, and off this new fear for her father. She checked her wristwatch as the seat belt sign lit up. A glance through the port hole revealed only the darkness of the moonless night sky. Heavy clouds obscured even the bright lights of the suburbs below even though Jody knew they were perhaps only a few minutes away from landing JFK.

Without volition, her thoughts drifted back, recalling how she had awoken from the first variation of this particular recurring nightmare, that time by the rattle of a trolley in the corridor beyond the ICU room...

-ooOOoo-

Two Weeks Earlier:

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stared across the bed, ignoring the paraphernalia of tubes and wires, ignoring the heavy, pristine white bandages as she stared at the battered face. Her eyes flicked to the monitor set to one side of the bed, her heart beat slowing back to normal as she watched the steady pulse wave travel across the small screen, and heard the reassuring blip that told her that her father was still alive.

Jody dragged a hand back through her dark hair as images of the past few days came back to haunt her. Once more, she saw the crazed man who had been killing virgins in their small town, watching as he metamorphed into a parody of his mother using a dark, white streaked wig, woman's clothing and fake, bright red fingernails. She heard his insane reasons for the murders he had committed as he applied his make-up, watching helplessly as Marliston forced her father to confess to the greatest sin of his youth; the night he and three drunken friends had raped a girl not much older than she.

But she had already known of his sin from the past, having overheard her father talking to someone on the phone about a Loralee Sherman, and having started her own investigation. Her desire to know had led her to the basement archives in the library where her mother had found her and, under duress, had revealed everything she knew about that night twenty-five years earlier.

It had been hard to believe that this man whom she had known and loved all her life could be guilty of such a terrible crime upon another. In her despair Jody had run to the one person she thought she could trust -- her English and Drama teacher -- automatically helping him to unload a heavy trunk from his car and into his house as she spoke of her feelings of betrayal.

With the trunk poised at the top of the stairs to the basement, his strange words had cut through her misery and self-pity. Perhaps it was some sixth sense inherited from her father but, suddenly, she knew something was amiss.

Marliston gave the trunk a shove and it slid to the bottom of the stairs, cracking against the basement wall at the bottom. He had seemed highly amused as she moved cautiously down the stairs, demanding to know what lay in the heavy trunk that she recognized from school.

"Your father," he had said in a matter-of-fact way. "Possibly mine."

When she saw her father tied and gagged with duct tape inside that large trunk, all her self-righteous anger and self-pity evaporated in fear. Blood ran down the side of his face; his pain-filled eyes shining with fear that, instinctively, she knew was for her as well as for himself. No matter what terrible crime he had committed in the past, he did not deserve this. No one did.

Trapped in the basement, she lost consciousness when Marliston attacked her, discovering on awakening that she had been strapped to a dentist's chair.

Despite her words that he did not need to confess as she already knew about that terrible night, her father had made his admission of guilt; his confession, bringing a lump to her throat as the years of hidden pain and remorse spilled from him.

Now, in her mind's eye she could see it all. She could see the young, shy, strange girl with the white streak of hair within her long dark strands, standing beside her broken down car. She could almost feel Loralee's relief when another car pulled up, recognizing the four boys inside -- especially the one she had secretly adored: Brent Marken, captain of the football team. Jody had seen photos of her father as a young man. He had been so handsome -- and he still was -- with his soft green eyes, his shock of sun-kissed blond hair and his lean and muscular form.

Her mother had once told her how he had been the object of lust for so many of the girls at the school, but she had been the one he chose. Childhood sweethearts -- and apart from that one night -- the only girl he'd ever had sex with even to this day. The bitterness in her mother's tone had never truly registered until now. Had her mother hated the fact that he had been with another, or hated the crime he had committed?

It made Jody's heart ache for him, especially as he and her mother had been estranged for most of Jody's life, sleeping in separate beds, living separate lives. Her father had immersed himself into his job and, eventually, her mother had found solace at the bottom of a bottle, and in the arms of other men. She wondered if they would still even be together if not for their seeming obligation to the child they had created between them --to her.

A soft sigh caught at her, bringing her back from her deep thoughts, and she reached out to stroke his hand, careful avoiding the cannula and IV line taped to the back. He settled immediately but it was a while before her thoughts returned to the basement of Marliston's house...

-ooOOoo-

Although they had split up only a day earlier, her boyfriend, Kenny, had come looking for her, leaving the 'cherry popping' party after deciding that he wanted to lose his virginity with *her* rather than some other girl. They had been together for over a year, and she had deliberately stopped their relationship from taking that final physical step because she had wanted to please her father by staying a virgin until the day she married.

The 'Virgin Killer' had changed all of that. Scared parents no longer fought against the sexual proclivities of their young, with some actively encouraging them to take that final step into adulthood, wanting their children to be safe from the killer.

She recalled with a bitter laugh how Kenny had been jealous of Leonard Marliston, perhaps even believing Jody had formed a crush on the high school's newest teacher. This jealousy had saved her life, bringing Kenny to Marliston's door that night. He had seen her bicycle propped up outside Marliston's home, and he had rung the bell insistently, forcing Marliston to answer the door to him, and refusing to accept that she was not inside despite his claims. Some how, Jody had managed to cry out loud enough to be heard, and Kenny had come to the rescue, locking Marliston out of the house and bounding down the stairs into the basement.

Kenny had sliced through her father's restraints first, leaving him to finish removing the rest while Kenny freed her from the straps holding her to the dentist's chair. Being too intent on making their escape, she barely registered the pain of her inner thigh from where Marliston had been disturbed while carving the word 'Virgin' into her flesh. Then she heard the sound of wood splintering as Marliston used an axe to chop through the wooden front door, knowing they had run out of time.

Marliston had blocked off their escape route.

Her father had ordered them to run, and she had seen his determination to hold Marliston back for as long as he could, no matter the cost. In hindsight, she wished she had stayed; wished she and Kenny had attacked Marliston together and brought him down, but they had been so scared.

She had not been there when her father lost his fight against the younger, deranged Marliston; his head injury contributing to his weakness. However, in her nightmares she knew she would always see the maniacal expression in Marliston's blue eyes, and imagine the rise and fall of the axe, knowing it would bite deep into her father's vulnerable flesh.

Her thoughts returned, carried back to the ICU by the steady beep of his heart beat, and the gentle sound of his breathing. Her eyes moved to the heavy white bandages encasing his left shoulder, arm and chest, all too aware of how her father's life had been saved by the thin metal frame of the dressing mirror that he had dragged across him in a last ditch attempt to protect himself. It had taken the brunt of the potentially killing blows, stopping the axe from severing his arm or biting deep enough to damage internal organs. Even so, he would still have died if Marliston's neighbors had not come to investigate after hearing the shouts and seeing someone race from away from the house. And he would have bled to death if one had not applied pressure with his dressing gown to stem the flow while his wife called for the paramedics.

Had it only been two days ago?

"Jody?"

Her mother's voice drifted from the threshold and Jody turned to her, her lips tightening in readiness for yet another battle.

"The doctors don't expect him to wake up for some time yet, because of the concussion... and you need to sleep in a proper bed."

"I'm not leaving, mom. I know what I saw."

Her mother sighed, pulling out a cigarette and then stuffing it back into the pack in annoyance as she recalled where she was. "A trick of the light... a figment of your imagination. He's dead, Jody."

Jody looked away. The morning after the incident she and her mother had been leaving the police station after being interviewed by the two FBI assigned to the case, and Jody could swear she had seen someone standing on the far side of the street. It was a figure with long dark hair with a single streak of white through it. She knew it was not Marliston for she had seen him take his last breath but what of his mother, Loralee?

Had she come back to Cherry Falls? Had she been hoping her son would grant her revenge for the shame and brutality inflicted upon her that terrible night? Loralee had loved Jody's father from afar, writing poems and love letters that she would never send, but the line between love and hate was fine. She had taken out her pain on the child borne out of that rape, hating Marliston for not being Brent's son, though Marliston wanted to believe that she was wrong.

Jody thought about Marliston's claim that he and her father had the same eyes, but he was delusional for his eyes were blue and her father's that soft shade of moss green. If anything, Marliston looked most like another boy who shared so many photos with her father from his high school years but that boy had left the small town soon after the rape. His rich family had moved away to Washington DC, wanting to escape the small town scandal that might ruin the political career of his father -- and his own political aspirations. Only two of the four boys involved in the rape had stayed in the town: her father and Tom Sisler.

Marliston had murdered Tom Sisler, taking his revenge on one of the four rapists whose actions had brought him life but who had also condemned him to a childhood of brutality and abuse at his mother's hand.

Loralee Sherman's family had also left, unable to face the stigma of their daughter being branded a whore even though she had been the victim. That was the part Jody could still not comprehend. Her father had stood for justice for most of his adult life and yet he had allowed the greatest of injustices to fall upon Loralee. She frowned, but he had been little more than a boy at the time and, perhaps his choice of occupation had been his way of making atonement.

"I know what you're thinking, Jody. That you saw Loralee Sherman on that street."

"What if she had been behind this... urging her son to kill... to give her the revenge she wanted?" Jody looked hard at her mother. "What if she's just waiting for the opportunity to finish what he started?"

Her mother had no answer for her, and Jody thought back to the two FBI officers who had interviewed them that day. Once more the past had been buried. She had honored her mother's request to deny any knowledge of why Marliston had committed those murders and how her father had been involved. Yet, perversely, Jody wanted justice for Loralee but she would wait until she had spoken with her father, needing to know why he had hid the truth all those years before she revealed all the sordid details to the world.

"What they did to Loralee was wrong." She whispered softly as she felt her mother kneel down beside her and take her hand.

"At the time, your father couldn't recall what happened. They'd been drinking all night, and he'd been so drunk. Pieces have come back to him over the years... flashbacks to that night but... with no clear memory, how could he say who was right and who was wrong? Loralee reeked of alcohol so it was just her word against the three other boys."

"I want to know if Marliston was my half-brother."

"Why? What good will it do? Why rake up a past that's best buried--?"

Jody snatched her hand back from her mother's. "You all thought it was buried before... but it wasn't." Her voice softened. "I have a right to know if he was my brother."

Her mother bowed her head, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, now uncaring that she was in the hospital. Jody felt an impulse to snatch the cigarette from her mother's fingers and crush it beneath the heel of her shoe but her mother's slight nod pulled at her instead.

"All right. I'll--I'll have a word... and see if they'll run a paternity test."

Her mother seemed to have aged a decade by the time she rose back to her feet. She laid her hand on Jody's shoulder and then stumbled away leaving Jody alone with her father once more.

Jody turned back to stare at the handsome yet bruised and discolored features, wondering what other secrets lay hidden deep inside the man she still loved with all her heart...

Her thoughts came back to the present as the flight attendant stopped beside her to check her seat belt was on, and Jody leaned her head back as she felt the plane descend through the thick layers of cloud. The ride was bumpy for a time, and she looked out the port hole in time to see the plane break through the lowest layer, revealing the glow of lights from the city.

-ooOOoo-

As he pulled into a parking lot reserved for official business, it occurred to Martin that Jack could just as easily have asked either Danny or Samantha to meet Jody Marken. After all, they were still in the airport interviewing staff and regular visitors, and chasing down leads.

Sometimes, the way Jack worked confused him, and yet there was intrinsic logic behind all his decisions that made Martin wonder if the man ever played Chess. He had a feeling Jack Malone would be a formidable opponent.

Martin's father played Chess, though infrequently, and tried to instil a sense of the game into his son in the belief that it would make him a better man. Trouble was, his father only knew about winning -- at any cost. For Martin, playing Chess with his father was a lesson in how to lose, and he'd become sick of losing all the time. They hadn't played a game in years, not since he left for college, and Martin wondered if his years on the Chess Team would stand him in good stead should he ever decide to challenge his father.

A smile curved the corner of his mouth. Perhaps he ought to throw down the gauntlet between his dad and Jack, see which of them proved victorious. The smile faded in the realization that, though strong-minded and intelligent like his father, and though filled with an equal desire to win, Jack had more compassion in his little finger than his father had in his whole body. He'd seen that on the night they took that sick pervert, Graham Spalding, on a ride to the Coleman Caves in the hope of finding the missing boy alive. Spalding had kidnapped and tortured Andy Deaver with the intention of abusing and then murdering him. Jack had played up to the man's sick fantasies, his soft voice lulling the man into believing he was sympathetic to his desires -- and even shared them -- describing the boy's soft flesh, offering him fifteen minutes to do whatever he pleased... if he would tell them where to find Andy Deaver.

It had been hard driving in silence, hearing the disgusting words whispered by Jack that made his stomach roil, but Spalding had bought into the lie. He had revealed the location of the boy in time to save Andy Deaver's life. But Martin had also seen the cost Jack paid, averting his eyes to give Jack a measure of dignity when he threw up, and then later when their superiors had berated Jack's actions in taking Spalding on that drive against orders.

On that occasion it had been worth it, and they had laid to rest the souls of over a dozen boys that Spalding had abused and murdered over the years. Spalding would never see the outside of a prison for as long as he lived, though in many ways, Martin wished Spalding had suffered the same fate as Marliston.

Even though he had warned them of his imminent arrival, Martin was surprised to see Danny waiting for him.

"Think we have a new twist on the case." Danny slapped his hand on Martin's back and steered him towards one of the other entrances where Sam stood waiting with a stranger.

Martin eyed the man, recognizing him as the type he saw all the time yet tended to ignore. The man was neatly dressed and well groomed, and by his feet lay a small stack of pamphlets proclaiming to know the way to the light. Martin knew that Jehovah's Witnesses were not the only religious people to frequent the airports and bus terminals, hoping to catch the weary traveler and spread the word of whatever god they worshipped.

"Mr. Simmons, would you mind repeating what you told me... to my colleague?"

"Certainly. You asked if I had seen anyone with a heavily bandaged left arm and shoulder. Well, I saw him. I'd only arrived a few minutes earlier... to take over from George. We were exchanging pleasantries...."

-ooOOoo-

"Charlene wants you and Joyce to join us after the service. She's made--"

Mark stepped back as he saw the approaching man, quickly deciphering the pained expression as he caught sight of the thick bandage strapping the man's left arm to his chest. His initial temptation was to offer some spiritual solace but the aura of menace surrounding the second man stopped him.

"Keep walking, Bren. We have a driver waiting."

Mark had seen people like that one before, and he knew that kind were more trouble than they were worth. George knew it too, and so they stepped back to let the men pass unaccosted. A dark BMW pulled up to the kerb and Mark winced in pain as the injured man was encouraged to get in with a not too gentle push....

-ooOOoo-

Martin nodded as the faraway look left the man's eyes.

"The car pulled away, and that's it."

Danny asked the next question. "What about this second man? Can you recall anything about him? Skin color, hair color, the clothes he wore?"

"White, dark brown hair, casual dress."

Sam gave a small smile, "Denim jacket, maybe a little on the scruffy side?"

"No." He lengthened out the negation, eyes narrowed in thought. "More of a sports coat. Expensive."

It threw out the idea that this man Jack had told them to mention had been connected with Marken's disappearance, but they were used to Red Herrings in their line of work. Martin recalled one of the first cases he had worked on, where they had been searching for a missing child. He had drawn office duty after fouling up his first case with the team and almost getting both him and the missing person killed by the man who had kidnapped her. His punishment had been to collate phone calls from the public after a media announcement concerning the missing child. He smiled softly in remembrance. If every one of those people were to be believed then that kid had clones running all over New York.

Danny asked the next question. "Around what time was this?"

"Well, I was supposed to start at five but I was ten minutes early. George and me... we rotate shifts throughout the evening... two hours on, two hours off."

Martin caught Sam's and then Danny's eye. The time frame fitted exactly, and implied that Marken had left the airport within minutes of leaving his sister's side. There was still no positive proof that he had been kidnapped but it was enough to raise serious doubts that he had gone willingly. A new voice intruded.

"Mark?"

"Ahh!! This is George Cromer. Your young lady here asked me to give him a call. We don't leave the airport until the end of the evening. No point rushing home only to come straight back."

They asked Cromer the same set of questions, showing him a photograph of Brent Marken, and then they listened as he related his version of the events but something about both versions struck Martin. He frowned as he tried to grasp the elusive thought, and then it clicked into place.

"You said you overheard the man calling him Bren... not Brent?"

Danny gave a snort and commented softly. "Bren... Brent... most people drop the 'T'"

"Yes. He definitely said Bren." Cromer raised his eyebrows at Danny. "*Without* the 'T'... and I believe it was deliberate."

"Why?"

"Because he had a polished accent... and he put the 'T' in 'waiting'."

"You're sure?" Martin tilted his head. "I mean, this was one overheard sentence--"

"I like accents... it's why I enjoy spreading the word of GOD here at the airport. You hear so many different tones, languages. I'm quite a scholar--"

"You said he had a polished accent?" Martin watched the man intently, an idea forming in his mind.

"Yes... a New England accent... an educated man."

Danny stepped in. "Can I ask why you recall this so clearly?"

"Because there was something strange going on... and they were being followed..."

-ooOOoo-

George handed over the pile of pamphlets to Mark and agreed to join Mark and Charlene after the service tomorrow. He looked up to see two men approaching. One appeared to be in a lot of pain, with a pale and drawn complexion and George's eyes fixed on the white bandages visible beneath his light cotton jacket. The other man seemed determined to get his friend out of the airport, gripping his forearm tightly and propelling him forward at speed.

He sensed Mark's indecision but the second man's eyes challenged them to interfere so George stepped back to let them pass. He watched as the injured man was pushed into the back of a black BMW, seeing the strain on the man's face and almost hearing the small cry of pain. The car pulled away sharply, and George glanced at Mark, wondering what he made of it all.

Mark shook his head and shrugged. They both knew it was none of their business and any interference would lose them any standing they had with the airport authorities. Neither of them wanted to have any complaints laid against them as that would lead to them being refused access to the terminus. George had no intention of spending an evening standing in the cold night air this winter.

As he walked away, intending to find a quiet corner to read, he almost walked into an agitated man, and then realized that the man had been shadowing the two who had passed them a minute earlier.

"My apologies. Can I interest in some literature--"

"Fuck off."

The man shoved him aside and stormed off, leaving George sighing in resignation. It was not the first time someone had been rude to him while he carried out the Lord's work, and it most probably wouldn't be the last time....

-ooOOoo-

"Can you describe this man?"

"Oh yes... white, dark hair... a little greasy and slicked back. He wore dark pants and a worn denim jacket." Sam smiled at Danny triumphantly. They had their scruffy denim man mixed up in this after all. "Oh, and he had a woman with him."

"Can you describe her?"

"Never saw her face... Hidden behind all this long dark hair... but it had a white streak through it."

Martin smiled wryly and murmured softly, "Loralee Sherman."

-ooOOoo-

Seven Hours missing:

Martin waited patiently outside the arrivals gate, watching for a young woman who matched the photo clutched in his hand. He didn't bother to recheck the picture every time a woman passed through the gate, having already committed the image to memory.

He thought about her face, comparing it to the photo pinned up on the white board and finding little similarity, deciding that she had to take after her mother for the most part. He rolled his shoulders back, trying to ease the dull ache from spending too much time hunched over a PC recently.

He recognized her immediately, and called her name, drawing her attention to him. Her eyes widened a fraction and then she looked a little flushed as he showed her his ID badge before grasping her small suitcase. He carried it for her as they made their way across the concourse.

"Any news on my dad?"

He shook his head, with lips tightened into a thin line. "No. I'm sorry, but we have a few leads that we'll start chasing up."

She nodded and followed him to towards the exit where he had his car parked waiting. Martin drove in silence, wondering how best to broach the subject of her father's part in the 'Virgin Killer' case. He had managed to scan through the newspaper articles during the fifteen minutes while he waited for her to collect her luggage and make an appearance. What he had read filled him with dismay, giving him the answer to the question he had posed back in the office.

Now he knew what haunted the beautiful green eyes.

On the death of her son, Loralee Marliston, formerly Sherman, restated her allegations of rape on that night twenty-five years earlier. She refused to name the four boys involved but it had not been hard to guess who two of the boys had been: Tom Sisler and Brent Marken.

As yet, he had no idea who the other two boys were but, after hearing a description of Loralee Sherman from George Cromer, he had a suspicion that one of those two -- or their families -- had to be involved. Martin wished he could ask Jody Marken how much she knew and see if she would share that knowledge but Jack had insisted that no one question her until she had been reunited with her aunt.

Martin could understand Jack's reasoning. Jody Marken was only seventeen years old, and she had just come through one ordeal only to be thrown headlong into another. They had no idea how fragile her psyche was at this moment, so Jack wanted to proceed cautiously. Still, Martin had a head full of questions but he had a feeling that the answers might have to wait until morning unless Jody volunteered some answers now.

It took almost thirty minutes but, eventually, he pulled up outside the luxurious apartment building in downtown Manhattan that overlooked Central Park. He took Jody all the way to her Aunt's apartment and left her, bidding good night, and puzzled over this task for the whole journey back to the office. Jack could have asked the local Police to carry out this piece of chauffeuring so there had to be a reason why he had asked Martin to do it instead.

When he reached the office he found only Jack waiting for him.

"Where is everyone?"

"I sent them home. Tired minds don't sit well with this kind of investigation." Jack leaned forward in his seat and laid his elbows on the desk in front of him. "I want you to head off too. Be back at six."

"We have local law enforcement searching for Loralee Marliston, and we have officers cross referencing that partial plate Cromer gave against the Licence database searching for dark colored BMWs. Plus I've got a few other ideas--"

"I know, and we can turn them into solid leads tomorrow. Now we need to get some rest." Jack laid his palms flat on the table top.

Martin sighed, knowing Jack was right. He felt the fatigue pulling at his limbs and dragging at his eyelids. This was the hardest part of the job, admitting that they were only human and so subject to the same human frailties as everyone else -- such as a need to sleep and eat.

"What about you?"

"I have a few reports to finish--" Jack sighed deeply. "You're right. They can wait."

He pushed up from his seat and grabbed his coat from a hook by the door. Martin followed him out into the work space. The once empty white board now had two lines intersecting the 'missing' time line, and he recognized both Vivian and Samantha's writing; he read each entry.

16:45: Last seen by sister at coffee bar

16:50: Seen leaving the airport with a second man -- Loralee Sherman sighting??

Martin sighed. It was almost midnight and they had been on the case for less than five hours. He knew the first 48 hours of a missing persons case were crucial but he had a lot of respect for Jack knowing when it was time to push for answers, and when it was time to rest.

They walked along the corridor together and waited for the elevator, finally parting company in the parking lot as they each took to their own cars and drove off into the night.

-ooOOoo-

13 Hours Missing:

His night's sleep had been disturbed by haunted green eyes and, as he entered the office, Martin wondered what he had missed. There was something nagging at the back of his mind but he couldn't quite grasp the slippery thoughts, and every time he believed he had come close to snatching at them, they slithered just out of reach.

He was surprised when he saw both Jack and Samantha pulling on coats. Jack approached him with a pile of reports under his arm, and Martin noticed that one held copies of the print outs he'd made of the 'Virgin Killer' newspaper articles.

"We're heading out to Cherry Falls to speak with the wife. I want you to go with Vivian back to the sister's and see what you can find out. I suspect the key to this case is that twenty-five-year-old rape allegation."

-ooOOoo-

Cherry Falls New England

It did not take long to fly from New York to the closest airport to the town of Cherry Falls, but then came the hour long drive. Jack let Samantha take the wheel of the rental car, declining any small talk, and knowing Sam would not read anything sinister in his silence. There were times when he needed to stop and think, and this was a ripe opportunity, and a good way to fill the empty miles of highway.

However, whereas his thoughts should have dwelled on the case at hand, instead they turned to Martin Fitzgerald. He was the new boy on the team but no longer an untried element. He had come highly recommended for his skills with computers, and excellent cognitive skills too, but everyone had added a shadow of doubt. They pegged him as a 'fast-track' boy, one who would be looking to his influential father to gain quick promotions -- probably at the expense of whomever he worked for.

To his chagrin, he had almost bowed to their so-called wisdom and made a case to refuse Martin as a replacement on the Missing Person's Unit. However, when he met Martin all he could see was a boy trying to come out from beneath his father's shadow, and resenting those who implied otherwise. He could see Martin had a huge chip on his shoulder concerning his father... but then, who didn't? His own father had tried to push him into the same nomadic army life that he had grown up in and, though he'd gone to Vietnam with so many other boys of his age, he had taken the first opportunity to escape army life.

He smiled softly, realizing that he had exchanged one organization for another. Instead of the army, he was in the FBI.

His thoughts turned away from his past to Martin's present and future. The kid was good at what he did, though he still had a lot to learn. There was more to the job than poring through reams of data. There was a psychological element too; using instinct and learned skills to draw information from witnesses -- one of whom might even be the killer of the missing person. Martin had proved he had the ability to learn those skills but Jack knew he would be severely handicapped if he did not also figure out *himself*.

Jack smiled as he recalled the first case Martin had shared with the team, and how he had been completely oblivious to the lustful looks aimed at him by Maggie Cartwright's gay employer. Strangely, it was surprise rather than shock that crossed his face when Jack pointed out that the man had been checking him out. It was almost as if Martin had no idea that he was a good-looking kid... and perhaps he didn't.

When Jack was at college he had seen kids like Martin Fitzgerald; shy, sensitive, with their focus purely on the work. In this modern age he would have been labeled a 'nerd' -- a handsome nerd, but a nerd nonetheless. Jack had read his collage resume... computers, solitary sports, and a member of the Chess club. None of his activities encouraged social contact though he must have left a few behind in Washington DC.

Jack had sensed the loneliness in Martin, and he had sensed the confusion too, recognizing his inability to attract female companionship despite his handsome looks. Jack wondered how long it would take until Martin realized that he sent more glances towards men than women... or if he would ever realize that his preference tilted towards his own gender.

Part of Jack wished he could enlighten Martin now, and save him from wasted years looking in the wrong direction for what he needed. He sighed. Perhaps, in time, he would be able to work his skills on Martin and nudge him in the right direction -- and hope the whole thing did not explode in *his* face when Martin's influential father found out about his son.

"We're here."

Sam's soft voice intruded upon his thoughts and he glanced out in time to see the sign proclaiming the small town of Cherry Falls. Soon after they came into the main street and Jack navigated them to the Marken home.

They pulled up outside a well-maintained home with lush green lawn and a station wagon parked on the drive. Marge Marken opened the door, her eyes full of caution fading to weary resignation as she read the badges held out to her. Although not unduly hostile, nevertheless Jack sensed anger in her as she turned away to leave them to follow her without a word. She took a seat, making no offer to them of either seat or refreshment.

"Do you mind?" Jack indicated to the empty couch, and took a seat when she waved offhand.

"So... what would you like to know?"

"Perhaps we could start with the last time you saw your husband... and why he decided to go to New York."

She stared at him for almost a full minute, and Jack realized that she had been drinking quite heavily even though it was still only morning. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then reached for a packet of cigarettes, and lighting one up. She took a deep drag, head tilted back slightly, eyes closed... and then she began...

-ooOOoo-

It was a small town, with a small town mentality, so Marge knew something was amiss the moment she awoke that day. She saw it in the eyes of the mailman that morning; felt it in his professional detachment whereas he had always been so warm and friendly before. After all, Brent was the Sheriff.

The answer presented itself an hour later when the morning paper dropped onto the porch. She picked it up and stared at the front cover, lips tightening into a grim line as she read the headline: Virgin Killer linked to 25 year old Rape Cover-up.

Slowly she read the article, seeing all the accusations laid out against four unnamed boys, though it was obvious by the references who two of them were: Tom Sisler and her husband. The reporter had interviewed the sheriff from all those years back, and several other people involved at the time, but the most damning evidence came from Loralee Marliston, nee Sherman, the mother of the Virgin Killer.

The article ended with a demand from the father of the killer's first victim that the old case be reopened and those four men brought to justice for a crime that had spawned the killer of *his* child.

Marge gave the ghost of a smile, knowing that her husband's tenure as sheriff had come to an ignoble end for even if the charges laid against him were thrown out for a second time, the stigma precluded him from continuing with his duties. She knew that the only way he would be able to salvage even a shred of his dignity and honor would be if Loralee recalled enough to refute his active participation in her ordeal. But would she do so even if she could? She had no reason to defend him, especially as he had made little attempt to salvage her good name all those years ago. If anything, Marge half expected to see her lay all the blame at Brent's feet, condemning him for not loving her as she had loved him.

She thought about the paternity test that she had requested, having agreed to Jody's demand purely because she knew the outcome would be negative for Brent being the father.

The next week had passed with no end to the accusations and cries for justice even though there was still just Loralee's word against that of the four boys, but times had changed. The victim had found a voice through her psychotic son with the weight of his crimes giving greater credence to her accusations from the past.

Reporters and others hounded her on the street, in the grocery store, even tried to gain entrance to the house. The sound of glass shattering late one evening warned her that feelings were running high even though she could see by the running figures that the vandals had been only kids.

Brent had found some measure of respite from the media harassment through being in the hospital but today he had demanded to be released. The doctors had tried to persuade him otherwise but he had been adamant, so they called her.

Less than thirty minutes before she needed to make her way to the hospital she knew she could not go on like this. For twenty-five years she had kept herself tied in a sham of a marriage but no more. She made a phone call to Brent's sister in New York, and then packed a suitcase for Brent.

She could tell by the sideways glances that he suspected something but Marge had, perversely, not felt obliged to tell him anything. She had already run the gauntlet of reporters on her way in and she knew it would be far worse on the way out. She watched his expression change as he caught sight of the crowd milling about outside, and saw him swallow hard in the knowledge that they were waiting for *him*. As the door opened, the crowd surged forward, some yelling abuse, others demanding answers to questions. Among the angry mob, Marge recognized parents from the high school being urged on by the families of those children murdered by Marliston.

Brent gasped as someone tried to grab hold of him, with their fingers scrabbling at the thick bandaging that still covered his left shoulder and arm. Brent's former deputies punched a hole through the crowd to allow them to reach the station wagon that she had drawn up close to the kerb. She watched him sink into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief, turning his head away from the angry faces and from the fists that pummeled at the side window. He kept his eyes closed until they had picked up speed, and she registered his shock when he realized they were heading away from home towards the highway.

"They've been camped out on the lawn all morning. Thought it might be better if you went away... stay with your sister in New York."

"I shouldn't be leaving town--"

"I bought you a ticket. Flight takes off in four hours."

"Marge? I'm sorry."

She turned her head quickly, and then looked back at the road ahead, steeling her heart from the encroaching memories. Despite his chosen profession, he was such a gentle man. Soft spoken, handsome. She had once been so proud that he chose her to be his wife.

"I love you, Brent. I always did... but I know you'd never have married me if it hadn't been for what happened with Loralee Sherman."

Her words held finality to them, as if she was saying goodbye, and it occurred to her that perhaps it would be for the best if they went their separate ways.

"Jody?" At least he had not tried to deny her words.

"I'll let her know where you are."

-ooOOOo-

"When we reached the airport, the ticket was waiting at the check-in desk. I turned around... and I left without looking back."

She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray set before her, adding its remains to those of the other two she had chain-smoked while describing her last sight of her husband.

"Did you notice anyone hanging around at the airport?"

"It's an airport. There are a lot of people hanging around."

"But anyone in particular who seemed out of place?"

Her eyes narrowed in thought and she recounted the odd scene as she was leaving...

-ooOOoo-

Despite wanting this, her eyes filmed with tears as she walked away. Their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary was only a few months away but instead of looking forward to the occasion, all she could see were the wasted years behind them.

The door slid open as she approached and she walked straight into a man coming in the opposite direction.

"I'm--" Her words froze at the shock and fear in his eyes. He ducked his head and moved away fast, and she watched him until he disappeared among the small crowd...

-ooOOoo-

 

"He probably recognized my face from the papers."

"And you didn't see where he went."

She shook her head as she took another deep drag on a cigarette.

Samantha leaned forward. "Can you describe this man?"

"Five ten... dark hair... dressed a little casual...scruffy even."

"Was he wearing a jacket?"

"Blue jacket... denim, I think."

"Thank you, Mrs. Marken."

Jack still had questions but it was too much of a coincidence that a similarly described man had been in both airports. They needed to gain access to the passenger roster for the flight and look at all the white males who shared that flight with Brent Marken, and perhaps speak to the check-in attendant at this end to see if she recalled a late arrival fitting that man's description. Even if this man had no direct involvement in Marken going missing, he might have vital information on the man who had been seen leaving JFK with Marken.

He considered asking her about the rape allegation but Vivian had contacted them on route to let him know all they had gleaned from Jody Marken and Brent's sister.

Marge Marken led them to the front door and she stopped with her hand on the latch, staring hard at the door's clean surface before turning the handle. She waited until they were past the threshold before speaking.

"He didn't do it, you know."

"Do what, Mrs. Marken?" Jack waited as she gathered her thoughts, as if trying to decide whether she should say more or not.

"The four of them pulled up outside my home that night. They were egging Brent on to... to... You see, we'd never had sex... either of us. They tried pushing him on top of me. Wanted him to prove he was a man." She gave a short bark of a laugh. "Even if my dad hadn't heard them, and chased them off... nothing would have happened. He was so drunk that *nothing* was going to stand to attention that night. Nothing."

Jack could see the bitter truth in her eyes.

"The others were nowhere near as drunk. They knew exactly what they were doing." Her expression tightened. "Brent hardly recalls any of it, but he blames himself for what happened to Loralee Sherman that night anyway." Her eyes softened in despair. "Always has, and always will... yet he was just as much their victim as she was."

Marge Marken closed the door softly behind them, and Jack stared back at it for a moment before turning away. They had a plane to catch back to New York, and questions to ask before they boarded it.

-ooOOoo-

Twenty Nine Hours Missing:

"Brent Marken, Tom Sisler, Harold McKay and James Adnam-White." Martin read the names off the list as he added them to a corner of the white board. These were the names of the four boys originally accused of raping Loralee Sherman, according to Virginia Allen.

"Is that Harold McKay, brother to *Senator* John McKay?"

He looked back at Vivian and gave a tight nod. "Yeah... and I'm expecting my father to show up any minute. Wouldn't want to see a scandal hit the higher echelon of our political system."

Martin sighed, well aware that he was not just being sarcastic. As soon as someone higher up noticed that particular name on the list of people they wanted to question then his father would be stepping on their toes. Jack sighed too, then carried on.

"So... what do we have? Danny?"

Danny shuffled the papers in front of him. "We have a partial plate on the dark BMW. We've narrowed the search down to 243 possible matches across the state with 105 registered in New York."

"Anything stand out?"

"Twelve of the cars are owned by a private hire firm. They supply both car and chauffeur."

"Make them your first call."

Danny recognized the 'dismiss' in Jack's voice and pushed away from the conference table. He had already been brought up to speed on Vivian and Martin's interview with Jody Marken and her aunt, and Jack had gained nothing substantial from the wife except for the possibility that Brent Marken had been followed to New York by a man in a scruffy, denim jacket. Jack had managed to secure a copy of the passenger list for Marken's flight before boarding the plane to New York so he and Samantha had found time to check through the list but no names had sprung out. Unfortunately, the check-in assistant who dealt with Marken's flight had not been available.

Sam had already left the table, intent on tracking down the name of the man who fit the vague description given by both Marge Marken and Virginia Allen, and who would link them to Loralee Marliston. They had already determined that he was not Leonard Marliston's stepfather, and Loralee had no brothers. Vivian was taking the opposite approach and checking details of extended family members and male friends of Loralee Marliston who might match the description. This had been made doubly difficult as Loralee had not been seen at her home for over two weeks so they could not approach her directly.

Jody Marken thought that she had seen Loralee in Cherry Falls the day after Leonard Marliston's death, and Martin had a strong feeling that she had not been a figment of Jody's overwrought imagination. But why had she gone there? Had she been there to goad on her son, sending him into a killing frenzy? Or had she been there after reading newspaper reports of the teenagers murdered, and determined that it had to be her son doing the killing? Had she come to stop Marliston, arriving a day too late?

"Martin... I want you to take pictures of Harold McKay and James Adnam-White to our Jehovah's Witnesses."

"You think the second guy might have been one of them?"

"It's a long shot but, as you said yourself, whoever it was with Marken had enough familiarity to call him Bren rather than Brent, or Marken."

-ooOOoo-

The visit proved a waste of time as neither recognized the men in the photos, but Martin learned good news by the time he returned. Danny had tracked down the driver of the dark BMW used that day to spirit away Brent Marken and Martin joined Jack behind the one-way glass that looked into the interview room.

"How long have you worked for Haynes Chauffeurs?"

"About four years."

"Says here that you used to be part of the President's security detail."

"Yeah... it's no secret that I got charged with vehicular manslaughter. Case couldn't be proved but I still lost my job. Friends help set me up in this one."

"What kind of clientele do you chauffeur around?"

"Not any of my business. They don't say and I don't ask. I just drive."

 

Danny glanced up towards the mirror then focused back on Jeffrey Keane. "Do you recall picking up two passengers at JFK around 5 pm the day before?"

Keane shrugged.

"Let me refresh your memory. One of the men had a lot of bandaging across his left arm and shoulder."

Keane remained silent.

"You know, impeding a Federal investigation is an offense. Your employers at Haynes might have been persuaded to take you on following the dismissed manslaughter charge..." Danny tilted his head inquiringly, "...but are you so sure they'll keep you on if you go down for a Federal offense?"

Keane bristled with resentment and then capitulated. "Okay... I don't know much anyway. Yes, I picked up two men from the airport and, yes, one was heavily bandaged. The other man didn't seem too pleased to see his friend--"

"His friend?"

"Well, I figured they were friends as they were on first name terms..."

-ooOOoo-

"Get in the car, Bren."

Keane flinched as the injured man was none too gently shoved into the back seat, hearing the cry of pain that he could not prevent from falling. Keane stared at the man's face reflected in the rearview mirror, easily reading the signs of pain and exhaustion

"Ginny's expecting--"

"I'll talk with Ginny."

"What's this all about, Paulie?"

"Don't call me that. No one calls me that anymore."

"Is this about Loralee?"

"Of course it's about Loralee. Everything has been about Loralee for the last twenty-five years. Oh, but you wouldn't know much about that, would you?"

"What do you mean?" Paulie made no answer and the silence lengthened until the injured man spoke again. "Where're we going?"

"You'll find out when we get there."

-ooOOoo-

"They didn't talk for the rest of the trip. I dropped them off outside Carnegie, just as ordered... and that's it. I drove off, never saw either of them again."

"Did they go inside?"

"Might have... might not have... I don't know. Never looked back. I was just paid to go take 'Paulie' to the airport, and then to Carnegie."

"What time was that?"

"Around six, six-fifteen."

"Would you recognize this Paulie if you saw him again?"

The man exhaled hard. "Yeah... yeah, I'd recognize him."

Danny looked at the mirror in triumph. All they had to do was find out who had hired Keane to drive Paulie to the airport that evening, and hope that the trail led them to Brent Marken. Then, with a positive ID from Keane, they would have a strong case should the charge be kidnapping.

Martin grinned at Jack. It was the first positive lead they had. Together they walked back to the Missing Person's office space, to find Samantha grinning broadly.

"You heard about the BMW?"

"Yeah... but I've got something too." Jack had a half-smile on his face as Sam began to beam with anticipated pleasure.

"I checked on the Marliston's financial position. Seems someone has been making regular payments into a trust fund in her name for the past twenty-one years. I thought it might be wages, but she's never worked a single day of her life."

"Inheritance? Insurance policies?"

Samantha shook her head. "I checked all legitimate sources for the income."

"Blackmail?" Martin asked and Samantha raised both her eyebrows in the affirmative, and Jack patted her arm.

"You did good. I believe we now have reasonable cause to speak to James Adnam-White and Harold McKay. Martin? You're with me." Martin saw Sam's faint frown at Martin being told to accompany Jack to Washington DC but Jack had other plans for her. "Sam, I want you to find out if she had any accomplices... check into family, immediate friends. You know the pattern."

She nodded and turned away, leaving Martin to gather up his overnight bag and follow Jack from the office. As he rode the elevator down with Jack, Martin's thoughts centered first on his bag, hoping that he had remembered to pack all he might need this time. They all kept overnight bags at the office as the urgency of their work meant they might need to leave without a moment's notice to follow a case across the country.

He recalled the first time he had accompanied Jack, that time trailing a frightened boy who was unwittingly heading into the arms of a pedophile posing as the boy's biological father. They had laid a trap for the pedophile, and almost lost him when one of the local FBI unit jumped too soon and caught an innocent bystander. Jack had given chase but Martin had cut the man off, barrelling into him and knocking them both into a shallow lake.

He'd ended up borrowing a T-shirt from Danny, either that or putting back on the white shirt he'd worn all day. In some ways it had helped to break the ice between him and Danny, with Danny telling him to pack as if he'd be away for three days rather than overnight in future.

Less than two hours later they were in the air, heading for Washington DC. Jack was asleep in the seat next to him, some how managing to tune out the chatter around them but Martin found it hard to rest.

His father had accused Jack of using him, bringing him on trips to Washington to give Jack a hold over his father. He did not want to believe that of Jack but his father had always known how to manipulate other people's insecurities -- including his. He shuffled in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, and then noticed that Jack was not actually asleep.

"Can I ask you..." He sighed in annoyance at his own insecurity. "No... it's not important."

Jack shifted in his seat until he was facing Martin. "It's important, otherwise you wouldn't be so uptight."

Martin glanced at Jack and then looked away. "Why am I going to Washington with you? Why not Sam, or Vivian... or Danny?"

"Because you know the mind set of the people we're about to meet... just as Danny understands the street kids. You've been a part of their world even though indirectly. I can trust your judgment on how much is truth and how much is spin."

"Thought you said all the truth is questionable."

"Yeah. It is, and that's more true where politics and politicians are concerned."

"So I'm not there to field my father?"

"Is that what he said?" Jack sat back in his seat, both of them recalling the one time Martin's father had appeared at the FBI Missing Person's office in New York. "I won't deny the thought crossed my mind... but my reasons still stand. Danny knows the ins and outs of the streets, and you know the ins and outs of politics. Makes you the best person to be at my side in this situation."

Martin sat back. "I'm sorry for doubting."

"You've every reason to doubt."

Jack did not need to add anything more to that as they both knew how often Martin must have been manipulated by his father over the years. The son had rebelled against the father, but the battle of wills was far from over and Martin had a feeling that there would be more confrontations as time went by.

The remainder of the flight was filled with discussion on the case, and the possibility that Loralee had been blackmailing at least one of her rapists all these years. The original charge against them might have been dropped but the fact remained that she had given birth to a child who's paternity could be proved in a court of law.

By the time they reached Washington, Sam would have gained a warrant to check the Marken's financial records, and Tom Sisler's. Martin had a feeling that permission to access McKay and Adnam-White's records would be less forthcoming. He said as much to Jack but saw no surprise on his Team leader's face.

Within another two hours they were seated in a hallway just as before, this time waiting for McKay's secretary to usher them into the Senator's inner sanctum where he had insisted on being present while his brother was interviewed. As Martin had anticipated, his father had arrived only a few minutes earlier, barely acknowledging him before entering the Senator's office.

Martin glanced sideways at Jack, seeing the blank face that hid his frustration so well.

The door opened and Deputy Fitzgerald stepped out into the corridor, moving briskly to stand before them. Martin rose slowly to his feet, alongside Jack.

"I've spoken with Senator McKay and his brother has nothing to add to this investigation."

"You've spoken?"

"I'm sorry for your wasted trip. Perhaps if you'd contacted my office first then I could have saved you the journey."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have questions to put to Harold McKay concerning--"

"And he has no answers to give. I would suggest you take this investigation in a different direct--"

"With all due respect, we have reason to believe Harold McKay --or the Senator -- may have been paying blackmail to--"

"A trust fund set up out of the goodness of the Senator's heart to support Loralee Sherman's child through college, and proof there was no malice--"

"Or to avoid a scandal."

"Your business here is over, Agent Malone. I suggest you head back to New York."

Much to Martin's disbelief, his father began to walk away and Martin saw Jack's face harden imperceptibly in anger that had no outlet. His father outranked Jack but that did not excuse his offhand comments and rudeness, nor did it excuse his treatment of *him*, barely acknowledging his existence as if he was merely some rookie agent brought along the ride. Martin shrugged off the hand Jack dropped onto his shoulder and stalked after his father.

"Dad?"

His father stopped, but didn't turn, and Martin recognized the set of his shoulders as annoyance.

"How's mom?"

"If you called more frequently then you wouldn't need to ask."

"I've called when I can. I've left messages by phone and email so don't--"

"Don't what, Martin?"

"Don't ignore me like I'm some nobody. I'm your son."

"No. At this moment you are a junior agent of the FBI accompanying your team leader of a wasted venture. How much longer are you going to let Jack Malone use you to get at me?"

"It isn't always about *you*. We have a job to do... a missing person to find--"

"He is using you."

"What? Getting rankled because you can't use me anymore."

"I don't use you, Martin. You're my son, but I expected better things from you."

"So I'm only your son when it's convenient... when I move in the right circles."

"Don't put words into my mouth, Martin. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Martin bit back the next retort, closing his eyes as his father walked away again. He felt a hand drop on his shoulder and he gave a bitter laugh, once more feeling more compassion from his boss than from his father.

-ooOOoo-

Thirty-Five Hours Missing:

Martin slumped into a seat and stared at the white board. By now they would usually have filled in a few more time intersections but they could not find any trace of Brent Marken beyond the Carnegie Hall drop-off by Keane.

"He's slipping away," Martin murmured, paraphrasing Jack as his eyes focused on the handsome man in the photograph, and that bothered Martin more than it should

Sam stepped up and flipped over a photo to show both Jack and Martin. "Meet Greg Marliston, Loralee's husband."

"I thought we'd already ruled him out? Because he's dead."

"We had... but you're always telling us to make every truth questionable. It seems the original Mr. Marliston *is* dead, but Loralee remarried... her brother-in-law."

"How did we miss that?"

Danny slid into a seat, grinning broadly. "And I have a name from Haynes Chauffeurs. The car and driver were hired by a corporation, AW Technology. Anyone want to guess what the AW stands for?"

"Adnam-White?"

Danny gave Vivian an even larger grin... but there was a twinkle in her dark eyes as she made her own pronouncement. "I believe I have our 'second man' but I need to verify his identity with our two Jehovah's Witnesses."

She placed her photo on the table, and waited for them to look before giving them a name.

"Paul Sisler, younger brother of the lately deceased Thomas Sisler."

Sam opened up a folder. "I've one more thing to add to the party. Financial reports from the Markens reveal nothing untoward. Just a normal small town family with normal small town income and expenses. Two large sums paid out in the past three years, both traced to auto sales." She flipped over the page. "Now, the Sislers are another matter entirely with regular monthly payments made into an account linked via a trust fund to Loralee Marliston."

Jack pursed his lips and Martin could almost read his thoughts. If both Tom Sisler and Harold McKay had been paying into this fund then the chances are that Adnam-White had been too... so why not Marken?

"Danny, I want you and Vivian to take both photos to our airport witnesses and see if we can get a match. Martin, fax a copy of Greg Marliston's photo to Acting Sheriff Mina in Cherry Falls, and ask her to see if Mrs. Marken can make a positive ID, then check with Virginia Allen, and Jody Marken. If the guy was in Cherry Falls hanging around the hospital, then she might have seen him."

As Martin pushed away from the table but paused when he heard Jack hand out orders to Samantha. "Mrs. Marken asked for a paternity test on Leonard Marliston. I want the results, and the comparison against Brent Marken."

"So you think he *was* the father?" Martin felt a shiver of disappointment run through him.

"No. I think Mrs. Marken is telling the truth, that he was too drunk to have raped her... and I think Loralee Marliston knew that too, which is why she is blackmailing the other three and not Marken."

Sam shook her head in confusion. "But how could she prove any of them raped her? The charges were dismissed twenty-five years ago and any biological evidence, if they even bothered with a rape kit if those days, would have degraded by now."

"From nine months after the incident she no longer needed to prove rape. All she had to do was demand a paternity test, knowing one of them was the father, and knowing the ensuing scandal would have ruined their potential careers. None of them wanted to take a gamble on the results, so they all contributed to a 'silence' fund."

"It fits... and I think the catalyst was Robert Marliston, her first husband. I think he worked it all out as the first payments were made within a year of her marriage."

"So Greg Marliston carried on the family business with Loralee... until the son went crazy and started his own personal vendetta against the town." Martin gave a wry grin.

Sam still looked perplexed. "I still don't understand why she didn't blackmail Marken too."

"We've been profiling him since he went missing, and everything we've learned points to a man with a strong sense of duty and obligation. He would have agreed to take a paternity test, and accepted responsibility for the child... but everything Martin's uncovered in the Marliston case makes me wonder if he even knew there *was* a child."

Martin shook his head in wonder. "So, all of a sudden, the skeleton is out of the closet and the only one who could -- and probably would -- corroborate Loralee Marliston's claim of rape is Brent Marken."

"Unless they can persuade him otherwise," added Samantha. "And if they can't?"

No one needed to answer that question.

"Time's running out, so let's get to work."

-ooOOoo-

Thirty-six hours missing 05:00 am

Martin slapped the photo against his thigh as he left Virginia Allen's plush apartment having gained positive ID of the scruffy denim man. All they had to do now is locate Greg Marliston and discover why he had been tailing Brent Marken all the way from Cherry Falls.

He thought about the Marlistons.

On a first reflection, it seemed obvious that Leonard Marliston had put an end to a sweet deal for Greg and Loralee Marliston but Martin had his doubts. It seemed to him that Leonard Marliston's psychotic episode had upped the stakes, making an hereditary link to him even more of a scandal -- one that a certain senatorial family might never recover from. No one liked to admit mental illness in the family, especially families of high standing, and to have the country discover that they were voting for the uncle of a psychopathic killer would end Senator John McKay's bid for re-election before it had even begun.

Of course, a link to the serial killer through a rape allegation against a member of his family would be just as damaging, losing crucial votes from the law-abiding middle-classes.

James Adnam-White had just as much to lose. He was an media magnate who had taken over the family business almost a decade earlier. Currently, he was involved in a hostile takeover bid but should this allegation against him be made public then he would lose vital support from his financial backers.

The Sislers seemed to be the odd one out until Vivian uncovered that Tom Sisler's widow, Carolyn, was the younger sister of John and Harold McKay.

Martin had been surprised having been brought up in similar society to these families where the children were expected to find a suitable marriage partner within the circle of acquaintance. His parents had high expectations of him, and part of the reason why he had moved away was because he had become sickened at the way they insisted on him attending boring events and then listening to them discuss the potential of certain young females irrespective of his likes or dislikes. He'd felt like an object... a material possession that could be used to buy more wealth or status.

Thomas Sisler, though a school friend, had not moved in the same social circles as the Adnam-Whites and McKays so it must have been a shock to her parents when Carolyn insisted on marrying him -- and no other. It made Martin feel sorry for her, wondering if she had ever learned of the terrible allegations made against the man she had obviously loved. However, it was unlikely that she had been completely ignorant of the sordid details but love could be blind, so perhaps she had refused to believe it until Loralee and her first husband started to blackmail the three boys.

 

However, nothing explained why one of them -- working alone or on orders -- had intercepted Brent Marken at the airport. They had kept him out of the loop for decades, most likely because they knew he would pursue a course of justice that would be detrimental to them. However, whatever Marken said would make little difference now that Leonard Marliston had slashed his way through the teens of Cherry Falls.

Or would it?

All Martin could think of was the term his father would use whenever he had done something 'stupid' in his father's opinion: Damage limitation.

It was to the benefit of both Adnam-White and McKay to ensure that the allegation of rape was never connected with them -- or their families in McKay's case. If it was denounced as the ravings of a madwoman then only one of them would be facing ruin should the paternity be proven against them.

Brent Marken posed a threat in that respect, and so did Loralee Marliston who had only been seen twice in the past two weeks. One fleeting sighting in Cherry Falls by Jody Marken, and once at the airport the day before by the Jehovah's Witnesses.

Martin shook his head as he opened the door to his car. Something did not sit right. There was some vital piece of evidence that they had overlooked but he could not latch onto the elusive thought.

He looked up and frowned as he caught sight of a figure standing opposite, caught in the grey light of the dawn. Martin recognized the man immediately, even as he tried to duck away into the morning shadows and shrubs of Central Park.

"Sisler? Paul Sisler?"

Martin called out after Sisler, quickly threading between the sparse traffic and through the gate into the Park. He paused, looking around in the hope of spotting Sisler but, apart from some early morning joggers, there was no sign of the man. He pulled out his cellphone and speed-dialed Jack Malone.

"We got a positive ID on Sisler -- and I just made my own ID outside the Allen apartment."

"Where are you now?"

"Central Park..." he recited the exact details. "Wait! I see him!"

"Wait for back-up, Martin."

"We'll lose him." Martin took off at a brisk jog, the cellphone still open in his hand. "Heading south."

"Martin. Wait for back-up."

He slowed as Jack's voice came through very loud... knowing his boss was shouting to make himself heard. Martin pulled the phone back to his ear, slightly breathless as he acknowledged Jack's order.

"Okay... I'm waiting."

"Martin, I have local units converging on the exits closest to your position."

"Okay... but I can't see him anymore. Not sure which direction he took--"

"Martin?"

-ooOOoo-

"Martin?"

Jack focused intently on the sounds coming through the phone, hearing a thud followed by what sounded like a scuffle. The transmission broke up into static and then cut off to a deathly silence that was all the more ominous. He grabbed his coat.

"Sam? Where are those units?"

"They're sending officers in to Martin's last known position."

He called over his shoulder as he headed towards the elevator. "Tell Danny and Vivian to meet me there."

A small crowd had gathered by the time Jack reached the police officers sent to back-up Martin Fitzgerald and he nodded his approval that they had made every attempt to prevent anyone from damaging a potential crime scene. One of them pointed to the edge of the pathway and Jack swallowed imperceptibly at the sight of Martin's cellphone. He hunkered down and examined it visually, already surmising that it had been crushed beneath the heel of a boot or shoe.

His eyes scanned in every direction, trying to see through the dense foliage either side of the pathway.

"Have you made a search?" Jack didn't need to explain what he thought they ought to be looking for.

"We made a search for three hundred meters in every direction."

Jack sighed, feeling a small glimmer of hope that Martin was still alive as they had not found his body -- yet. At least he had to believe Martin was alive, just as he had to believe any missing person was alive -- until they found the body.

His thoughts turned to their previous case.

Had it been only a few days ago that he had stood not a mile away from this same spot as the coroner removed little Angie McCormack from a shallow grave? At least whoever had attacked Martin -- and Jack would not jump to the automatic conclusion that it had been Paul Sisler -- would not have had time to bury him had he killed him outright. That still left a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of water to drag through if the Forensic boys could not find the possible killer's trail among the many footprints leading into and out of the area.

He glanced up as he saw Danny and Vivian push their way through the growing crowd, shaking his head to let them know that Martin wasn't there.  
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Part 2 by Tarlan  
Martin awoke to the sound of voices raised in anger. He opened his eyes; slowly becoming aware that he was lying face down on a firm mattress next to another body. With a soft groan of pain, he shifted position and focused on the face lying barely two feet away from his, staring deep into soft green eyes that were clouded in pain despite all the signs that he had been heavily sedated.

With a bitter laugh, Martin realized that he had found Brent Marken but, unfortunately, now they were both missing.

-ooOOoo-

Two Hours Later:

Jack stood back and stared at the map of Manhattan, trying to see some pattern in the colored pins scattered across it. These were all reported sightings of Martin Fitzgerald following the Media announcement barely an hour earlier. He focused on the last known whereabouts of Martin in Central Park and let his eyes move out from there in concentric circles, looking for any sightings that seemed to fit.

Several joggers had come forward, and so had a milk delivery driver who had seen someone matching Martin's description slumped in the back seat of a blue Mondeo.

Samantha stepped up behind him. "Information's come through. Paul Sisler owns a blue Mondeo."

Jack tapped at the sighting from the diary truck driver. "He's heading west... but to where?"

The television caught his eye and he raised the volume so he could hear the report. The newsreporter was standing in front of the yellow crime scene tape that marked the area from where Martin had been taken and the camera panned across the now empty ground. The Forensic team had gathered all the evidence and had left perhaps only a matter of minutes before but they had discovered nothing new to add to the investigation. They could not determine if Martin had been alive or dead when Sisler took him. The reporter was replaced with footage taken earlier while the reporter recounted the events in a voice over.

"Two hours ago, this was the scene following the attack and disappearance of Agent Martin Fitzgerald, son of FBI Deputy Director Fitzgerald. As yet the fate of Agent Fitzgerald remains unknown. Blood found here at the scene matches the blood type of the young agent who vanished while chasing a suspect in the disappearance of Sheriff Brent Marken. Marken, who had only recently been released from hospital following injuries sustained while investigating a series of killings in the small town of Cherry Falls, disappeared from JFK less than two days ago under suspicious circumstances. Detectives from the NYPD are collaborating with the Missing Person's Unit of the FBI, of which Martin Fitzgerald was a member, in the hope of discovering the whereabouts of both men. But, as the hours pass, hope of finding Brent Marken, and now Martin Fitzgerald, alive and well, grow dim."

The scene on the television was replaced by three photos.

"Police have released photographs of three people wanted for questioning in connection with the disappearances: Greg Marliston, Loralee Marliston and Paul Sisler."

Jack listened as the reporter then began to relate the connection between those people and the serial killer that had struck Cherry Falls only a few weeks earlier, hoping to gain new insight from the skewed perspective of the media. They mentioned the connection between Tom Sisler, Brent Marken and the Marlistons, citing the twenty-five year old rape allegation and it struck Jack as odd that the Media had not been able to ascertain the names of the two other boys accused of that rape. Virginia Allen had volunteered that information to him but had then clammed up, refusing to say anything more about the old accusation for fear of incriminating her brother, even though it was all hearsay and so inadmissible in a court of law.

The scene on the television changed again and Jack thought they were showing the last known whereabouts of Brent Marken until he noticed all the cameras and microphones. A mass of reporters pushed and shoved towards the arrivals gate, and Jack groaned softly as the man they were clamoring to interview came into focus.

"Deputy Director Fitzgerald, have there been any new leads in the search for your son?"

"The Missing Person's Unit and local Police are coordinating their efforts and expect to have new information soon."

Another reporter pushed through. "How do you feel knowing that he might be injured or possibly already dead?" She shoved the microphone at Fitzgerald, the camera catching the way he visibly paled but Fitzgerald was a consummate professional, quickly hiding his fear.

"How do you expect me to feel? He's my son."

Vivian stepped up beside Jack, unnoticed until she spoke softly. "We'd better batten down the hatches... storm's about to blow in."

Jack grimaced. Dealing with distraught relatives and friends was part of his job, and he knew he could handle that part under normal circumstances. However, this was not a normal circumstance for Deputy Fitzgerald was also his superior.

-ooOOoo-

It seemed to take all his energy to push his way up through the layers of pain and fuzziness but he could hear an unfamiliar gravely voice close to his ear, and he had a feeling the stranger was talking to him. His eye lashes flickered, letting in stabs of light that hurt his eyes, making them water. Someone moaned, the sound reverberating through his pain-filled body, making him realize it had to be him.

"Brent? Brent Marken?"

He forced his eyes open and tried to focus on the handsome man with deep blue eyes, silently wondering why he hurt so much, and why this man looked so tired and yet relieved to see him awake. He tried to speak but his throat felt too dry, his words dragged hoarsely from him. Something cool nudged against his lips and he heard the man urge him to take a sip. Instinctively, he sipped at the tepid water, sighing as it brought welcome relief to the dryness in his throat.

Brent tried to move, crying out hoarsely as the pain burned through his body, radiating out from his chest and shoulder. He had been shot once, a long time ago when he arrived at the scene of a robbery in progress, but he couldn't quite recall if the intensity of that pain had been as great as this. Had he been shot again?

An image came to him of sharp metal gleaming as it arced towards him, striking into his flesh. Beyond the flashing steel was a face of a maniac, warped in a mixture of anger and pleasure as he brought the axe down once more. Brent could recall there being something in his own hands, something that he clutched onto desperately as the second blow landed, feeling metal bite into his flesh through the thick material of his sheriff's uniform shirt.

After that there was only a hazy memory of some other stranger kneeling over him, pushing down upon his body with relentless pressure as his sight darkened. His eyes opened wide in alarm, recalling his attacker, and the danger to his little girl.

"Jody!"

He tried to sit up, wanting to see for certain that she was all right but he fell back to the bed in agony, unable to react to the memory of her panicked cries. The stranger with the blue eyes tried to hold him down, and his world faded at the edges.

When he next awoke there was heaviness about the air that was reminiscent of a late morning despite the artificial light filling his vision. He moved a fraction but stopped at the first twinge of pain, recalling the agony that had flared through him before. A regular soft click of a clock seemed to echo in the silence of the room but, beneath it, he heard a gentle breathing that was not his own. Brent gazed across the bed and saw a brown-haired head on the next pillow. His eyes traced the square-jaw, pale lips, and the brows that seemed all the heavier for being a dark shade of brown. The man's eyes opened as if he had sensed the scrutiny.

"You okay?"

His voice was low and slightly hoarse, but his eyes were the same vibrant ocean blue that Brent recalled from his last awakening.

"Marliston?"

A momentary pause and then the man spoke. "Leonard Marliston is dead."

Brent frowned as he recalled being told that news once before. "Who are you?"

"FBI Agent Martin Fitzgerald."

"Where's Paulie?"

Martin tilted his head to the far side of the room and, as he did so, Brent heard a clink of metal on metal. He traced the sound upwards, eyes widening as he realized Martin had been handcuffed to the metal bedstead. Then he noticed the dried blood on Martin's neck and on the collar of his rumpled dress shirt. Confused, he tried to raise his hand to reach the handcuff but gasped as pain lanced through him.

"No. Don't move. I'm okay."

"Why?"

Martin shook his head, unable or unwilling to answer. "Thought you might have an answer to that one."

"This is all about Loralee, isn't it?"

Martin nodded and Brent knew what the man wanted to hear. He wanted to know what had happened that night twenty-five years earlier but Paul approached the bed and slumped into the chair close by.

"Started before then, didn't it, Bren?"

"I don't--"

"Tom was your best friend. Had been for as long as I can remember. You used to come over to our house to play when we were all just kids." Paul laughed bitterly. "We would play Cowboys and Indians, and you always had to be the sheriff. Me... I was always one of the little Indians... but I adored you because you would always let me play even when Tom was being mean."

He stopped, as if lost in the past for a moment.

"Harry was the first to mention it. How you barely glanced at the cheerleaders in their tight tops and short skirts. How you never noticed the lusty looks and come-ons they gave you no matter how blatant they were. And then there was Loralee Sherman." He snorted. "She used to sit in the bleachers at practise, scribbling into her little book, adoring you from afar... just like the rest of us."

Brent looked up in despair, wanting to share the heavy burden he had been carrying for years. Some of it had lightened when he shared his hazy memories of that night with Jody but Leonard Marliston had added new pain to the memories when he dropped into Brent's lap the pile of love letters and poems written for him by Loralee -- but never sent. Letters and poems she had clung onto over the years for some unknown reason.

"It was all my fault. We were celebrating, and they kept handing me more beer... and then we got to talking about... about women, and sex. Must have been the drink talking but, next thing I knew, I'd blurted out that I'd never... not even with Marge... even though we'd been going steady since second grade."

"We went driving... had more beer... I was so drunk. I just... couldn't really remember anything too clearly. Could barely even recall her being there. Thought it was some drunken delusion." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Never could hold my drink... not like Tom and the others."

Brent laughed hoarsely in self-derision, recalling the looks on his friends' faces when they realized that he was still a virgin. His memories of that night came flooding back.

-ooOOoo-

"See, Tom, I told you he was a goddamned faggot."

"It don't mean nothing so you shut your mouth, Harry."

Brent didn't understand whom they were talking about but he accepted the beer Tom handed to him, swallowing the gassy liquid and belching. He giggled uncontrollably at the rude sound, knowing how much his dad hated people belching like that. Funny how this beer seemed to be even more gassy than the last one, but then he brushed off that thought as inconsequential.

"Hey... how about we take Bren over to Margie's and he can show us what a stud he is."

Everyone seemed to like Tom's suggestion, and by the time they had forced another beer into him, he was all for going to Margie's house to lose his virginity -- with his friends' encouragement. They pulled up outside and sneaked across the lawn. Brent was surprised to see Margie sitting on the porch as if she had been waiting for them. She pulled him around the corner, steadying him when he staggered awkwardly, and sending a conspiratorial smile back at the others. She had to support him as they made their way to the small shed that Margie had once used as a playhouse, pushing open the door to reveal the floor covered in an old sleeping bag. Brent dropped down, head spinning in confusion as Margie quickly opened her blouse and undid her front-clasping bra, letting the white material fall aside. She sank down in front of him, grabbing his hands and holding them to her firm breasts, molding the palms around the soft mounds. She pushed up against his hands and he could feel the nipples tighten as she moaned softly in pleasure. Margie leaned in and kissed him, her tongue snaking out to brush over his lips before forcing its way inside his mouth.

She pulled away from him, lying down on the sleeping bag and slowly hitched up her skirt to reveal no panties underneath. He stared at the soft triangle of hair, so dark against the whiteness of her inner thighs, blinking in confusion as she spread her legs and enticed him to crawl over to her.

He didn't understand why but there was something strangely abhorrent about it all, and despite her moans of encouragement he felt no stirring inside. He recalled the feel of her hands rubbing over the soft mass of his groin without success, sensing her increasing frustration as he failed to respond to her touch. Her deft fingers pulled down the zipper, easing inside to wrap around his unresponsive flesh.

A light illuminated the dingy interior of the playhouse and Margie froze, pushing him off her and scrabbling to her feet. Quickly, she adjusted her clothing as the first shouts came from the front yard where her father had began to order the boys off his property before he called the Police. As he tried to race back to the car, Brent tripped over, sliding several feet along the grass before Tom and Jim grabbed hold of his arms and dragged him the rest of the way to the car. They shoved him into the back seat.

"Damn it. Even a rabbit wouldn't have had time."

They laughed at nearly getting caught by Margie's old man, and Brent found another beer pressed into his hands. He drank it without thought, too drunk and lightheaded to know he ought to stop.

Then Tom had seen Loralee standing all forlorn by the side of the road next to the junk heap she called a car.

"Damn... that girl is weird... but she's got the hots for you, Bren. You seen the way she stares at you all the time?"

Harry laughed. "You seen her legs? Man, they go on forever. Let's see if she wants to play."

Brent had seen the way she looked at him but he had tried to ignore her, feeling uncomfortable beneath her gooey-eyed stare but now he was too drunk to even notice her standing near to the car window, staring in at him as the others clambered out. He could barely focus, and his head was spinning, sending him diving into a dark abyss every time he closed his eyes. He stumbled out of the car after them but barely managed to get part way towards the others before tripping over his own feet and sprawling onto the hard road.

He could hear voices; Loralee's pleading above the deeper tones of his male friends but time seemed to have become meaningless as he lay there in the road -- until the others returned for him.

She made no attempt to push him off when they lay him down on top of her. Despite all their best efforts and cajoling to prove he was a man, he couldn't get a rise out of his flaccid shaft... any response withered by the alcohol running through his blood stream.

Still they tried, and he'd felt a momentary tingle of pleasure as he felt Tom's hand pulling his soft shaft from his pants, stroking him as he tried to force it inside Loralee's partially-naked body. Eventually, even Tom had to give up, leaving him lying there on top of Loralee in a drunken heap.

With disappointing cries, calling him a 'damn faggot', they had shoved him aside, uncaring that he landed hard on the ground. He lay on his back staring up at the night sky as sounds of grunting and moans of pleasure rose from the picnic table above. One after the other, they took their turn with Loralee -- part of him registering that she made no attempt to fight them off.

His next lucid thought came some time later as brilliant light stabbed into his eyes, and he rolled over, throwing up on the grass beside him, then pushing to his feet and staggering away. They had left him behind, the headlights of Tom's car passing over him as they drove off, leaving him to make his own way home.

There was no sign of Loralee Sherman, and Brent put it all down to an alcohol induced nightmare.

-ooOOoo-

Paul sighed as Brent's voice fell silent.

"No... you never noticed the girls at all, not even Margie, but then she'd been a constant by your side since kindergarten. Practically a sister." He swallowed hard. "But you did notice the boys, didn't you, Bren? That's why you were always a little uneasy around the other guys... in the showers, in the changing rooms."

Paul leaned forward, his face only inches from Brent's as he whispered softly.

"I was listening in that day -- Graduation Day -- while they argued over whether or not you were gay. Tom refused to believe it, said you was just shy with girls... so they concocted this plan to get you drunk and hand you a girl who was willing and able -- Margie."

He laughed and Martin pieced together all the clues from Brent's hazy memories. Marge had been in on the hastily made plan but her father had intervened before it could come to fruition. It had been unfortunate timing for Loralee Sherman, being the right person in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps the boys had assumed she'd be more than willing to take Brent's virginity along with her own... because of her known adoration for him.

In her account of that night, they had forced her to drink alcohol that quickly made her insensible. Had it been drugged, just as they had drugged Brent's beer? How much did she truly remember of that night?

It still came down to rape no matter if she struggled or not, and yet every version he had heard, other than Loralee's, had made Brent just as much the victim as she.

But who was right? Or were they all telling the truth but from different perspectives?

Brent sank back against the bed with a whimper of pain, his face white as alabaster with small beads of perspiration doting his forehead. Martin raised one hand and touched the hot, clammy skin.

"He's running a temperature. Have you checked his injuries?"

"What?"

Martin indicated towards the less than pristine bandages wrapped around Brent Marken's shoulder, chest and arm.

"I-- No... I thought he'd be fine."

"I need to take a look." Martin shook the hand that was uselessly handcuffed to the bed.

"Oh no... I can't let you free."

"Then *you're* gonna have to take a look."

Paul urged Brent to sit upright and began to unravel the bandages, wincing every time Brent cried out softly in pain. He hissed as he looked at the inflamed wounds. Martin shook his head slowly, seeing the inflammation that denoted infection.

"We need to get him to a hospital."

"No. No way."

"He needs medical attention -- or he'll die." Martin's eyes narrowed. "Do you want him to die?"

Paul looked confused for a moment. "No. No. That isn't the plan."

"Plan? What plan?"

Paul gazed across at Martin. "My plan." His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Don't you understand? I love him. I always did... but if they get to him first then they'll kill him... just like they killed Loralee."

"Loralee's dead?"

Paul laughed. "I brought you here to see what you'd found out... but you don't know anything."

-ooOOoo-

Forty-Two Hours Missing: 11 a.m.

Danny bounded into Jack's office, his face grim. "I've just been talking to Deputy Sheriff Mina in Cherry Falls. They dragged a Jane Doe from the lake three days ago. Body's badly decomposed, unrecognizable. They reckon she'd been in the water the best part of two weeks."

"And?"

"DNA just came back. Their body... with short, blonde hair... is Loralee Marliston. And they only know that because Leonard Marliston's DNA is on file following the murders in Cherry Falls and made a close match. Otherwise..."

Jack sank back into his seat in shock. Of all the things he had anticipated in this case, discovering that Loralee Marliston had been dead all this time had not been one of them. Part of him had anticipated hearing that she had fallen victim to some kind of accident in the past few days, knowing that Senator McKay and James Adnam-White would want to find some way to silence her, but not this.

"There's more." Jack was not surprised. "The Coroner thinks her hair was cut and dyed *after* her death."

"To misdirect the local Police and anyone else attempting to trace her through the unidentified victim database. We've all been looking for long dark hair with a white streak through it."

Jack sat upright as Danny leaned on the desk towards him.

"Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to fool the police... but whoever killed her didn't know about the DNA sample taken from Leonard Marliston."

"Or they didn't think it would be of any use in the identification process."

It begged the question of who had been posing as Loralee at the airport a little over two days ago? And why? Had it been purely for the benefit of any potential witnesses? Something was wrong with that scenario, though... unless...

"What if Paul Sisler abducting Brent Marken was unexpected. What if he had come along and foiled whatever scenario had been planned?"

Danny frowned and glanced through his notes. "Sisler is the managing director of a subsidiary of Adnam-White's empire." Danny tapped his fingers on Jack's desk. "So it could have been Sisler who arranged for the black BMW, and not Adnam-White. But what does this give us?"

Jack stood up and reached for his coat. "Hope.... that both Martin and Brent Marken are still alive."

"Where are you going?"

"*We* are going to pay another visit to Virginia Allen."

Danny went back to the office to grab his coat and caught up with Jack at the elevator.

"By the way... the labs ran a paternity test on Leonard Marliston. Brent Marken wasn't the father, and neither was Tom Sisler."

Jack made no comment, stepping into the elevator as the door opened and leaning against the back wall as Danny pressed the button to send them to the parking lot beneath the building.

-ooOOoo-

"Have you got a first aid kit?" Paul checked around the small motel room and shook his head when he could not find anything useful. "How about in your car?"

"Yes, of course. I carry one in the trunk."

He raced off leaving Martin alone with Brent Marken. Martin brushed the sweat-slicked hair off Brent's forehead and tried to gauge the man's temperature from touch alone but all it told him was that Brent was hotter than he ought to be. He shook his hand angrily, hearing the handcuff rattle against the bedstead. Some how he had to convince Paul that he meant no harm to Brent but the man seemed almost paranoid in his distrust. He hissed as he looked at the infected wounds. His limited knowledge of First Aid warned him that Brent needed more than just his festering wounds cleaned and re-bandaged: he needed strong antibiotics to combat the infection too.

When he looked back he noticed Brent was awake with his green eyes glassy with pain and fever.

"He's right."

Martin grimaced at the weakness in Brent's voice. "You shouldn't talk. You need to rest--"

"No. Need to say this... to someone... before it's too late. He's right. Never did care too much for the girls, not even Marge. But small towns can be cruel places. Everyone knows everyone else... knows everyone else's business. I spent my school years... being idolized... and I didn't want to disappoint my dad... see his face turn from pride to disgust."

"Yeah... I can understand that one."

Brent gave a small chuckle. "If it hadn't been for Loralee, then I might have moved away... but it was like a rollercoaster ride... I couldn't get off."

Haltingly, Brent told him what happened just a few hours after the rape...

-ooOOoo-

Someone was shaking him, and he tried to push them away, not wanting to leave the warm sanctuary that he had found only a short time before. They shook him harder, refusing to leave him in peace. Eventually, he forced open his eyes and stared up blearily at Deputy Masters.

"Brent? I got to take you in for questioning."

"What?"

"Get dressed, son."

As he dragged himself out of bed he could hear his parents talking to the deputy in shock-tinged voices. He stumbled down the stairs, groaning at the pounding in his skull.

"Dad?"

"It's all right, Brent. I'm coming along with you. We'll get this mess straightened out."

After that the true nightmare began as Loralee's father began to hurl abuse the moment he saw Brent step into the Police station. A deputy restrained him while Brent and his father were ushered along towards the small interview rooms. As he passed one door, Brent looked in and, with shock, he saw Harry seated with his father and a man who could only be the McKays' expensive family lawyer.

What the hell's going on? he thought as Deputy Masters led them to the next room along. He sat down at the table with his dad by his side and waited for all to be explained.

"Brent? Where were you last night between nine-fifteen and ten last evening?"

"Uhh... I was with Tom, Jim and Harry... I think."

"You think?"

"Yeah... we'd been out celebrating... but I kind of ended up alone."

"Where did you all go?"

"Nowhere... everywhere. Driving around."

"Marge's dad said you were there around nine."

Brent felt bile rise in his throat as tendrils of some hazy memory rose inside of Marge trying to seduce him. Was this about Margie? If so then why was Sherman angry with him?

"I didn't do anything with her... even though she wanted me to."

"Do what with who, Brent?"

"Margie."

"What about Loralee Sherman?"

Some thought was nagging at the back of his mind; some image of Loralee lying on a table, still and unresisting. He shook his head, unable to make any sense of the image.

"Did you see Loralee?"

"I--I don't know. I think I did... but I don't remember much of anything."

Brent noticed the look passing between Masters and his father. The Deputy turned to Brent and expelled a deep breath.

"Brent. You've always been a good kid... honest and trustworthy... so I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt. But you're in a heap of trouble right now." He turned to Brent's father. "I'm leaving him in your custody. Take him home and sober him up. Bring him back if he recalls anything."

-ooOOoo-

"I learned only later... that Loralee's father had accused us of raping his daughter... and had demanded justice. McKays' expensive lawyer... he made a mockery of those claims... accusing Loralee of making it all up after being caught drunk... with her clothes in disarray... and her neck covered in..." He trailed off, deep in thought for a moment. "The Sheriff had to admit that none of us... including her... had any bruises that would support a struggle. Said she wouldn't be the first to cry rape rather than face her father's wrath with the truth... that she'd been willing... and with no evidence to support her claim otherwise, the charges were dropped."

Brent let his head fall back onto the pillow.

"All I had at the time... were these hazy images that could have meant anything." He sighed. "And... eventually... her family moved away... ostracized by the town."

Silently, Brent recalled his one attempt to broach the subject with the others. They had laughed, saying Loralee ought to be grateful to them. They said they had shown her a real good time.

Even though he could still recall very little, now he knew they had lied and the thought disturbed him.

"When I realized they'd lied... that they *had* raped her..." Brent coughed and took a deep breath against the pain that wracked his body. "I couldn't do anything about it. Would have been my word against theirs... just as it had been Loralee's word against theirs... and I didn't remember enough... then or now... to make any difference."

He fell quiet again, lost in memories.

Eventually, they had persuaded him that Loralee was a nobody, coming from the wrong side of the tracks, and that they had bright futures that would turn to dust before their eyes if they were formally charged with rape. They brought other pressure to bear on him; insinuating about his sexuality and how it had been Tom's hand rather than Loralee's body that got that slight rise out of him. Without one of the others to corroborate what he *thought* he saw, Brent knew he would end up ostracized by the town just as Loralee had, and so he was forced to let it go.

"I was a coward. I should have..."

Paul came back in and dropped his small First Aid kit onto the bedside cupboard beside Brent. He opened it and rifled through the contents.

"There's not much here."

"Let me see."

Paul handed over the small box and Brent closed his eyes as he heard Martin rummage through it.

"You need to boil up some water, then use this wadding to clean the wounds. The antiseptic cream might help too... but I still say we should get him to a hospital."

"If they find him they'll kill him. Don't you understand? They can't afford the scandal should he talk... even if no one can prove what happened that night."

-ooOOoo-

Virginia Allen knew all the right words and phrases to use as she expressed her dismay on hearing that Martin Fitzgerald had become the second missing person in this case. But Jody Marken seemed genuinely distressed.

"Why would Paul Sisler kidnap my father *and* Agent Fitzgerald?"

"I was hoping Mrs. Allen might have some insight. Sisler was seen standing opposite this apartment block in the early morning, and Agent Fitzgerald went missing while trying to apprehend him. Sisler may have been intending to contact you regarding your brother."

"I haven't seen Paul in... simply ages. Brent and the others had been friends all the way through high school... and Tom had been his best friend so I knew his younger brother. But their friendship ended after the incident with Loralee. The McKays and Adnam-Whites moved away within a few weeks. I expect they wanted to distance themselves from any potential scandal, and then Tom went off to university leaving Brent behind."

She opened a small box lying on the coffee table and pulled out a cigarette. Until that moment, Jack had no idea that she even smoked. He wondered if it was a nervous habit, fairly certain that she was hiding something from them.

"Brent turned down a football scholarship and spent a year working for our father... and hated every minute of it. Instead of following a promising career, he became a small town sheriff, obviously in some misguided belief that he could save some other Loralee Sherman." She drew deep on the cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the curl of blue smoke drift towards the ceiling. "Such a waste."

However, she seemed even less self-assured after Jack informed her that Loralee Marliston was dead, with her eyes darting away nervously. Jody Marken, on the other hand, appeared horrified at the news, wondering if she might have been one of the last to see Loralee Marliston alive.

"We have two witnesses who identified a woman closely resembling Loralee Marliston at the airport at the time Brent Marken left with Paul Sisler."

"How can that be if she was already dead?" Jody asked. She looked fearful for a moment then shook herself visibly. "I had a horrible thought that maybe I only dreamed Leonard Marliston was dead."

Jack leaned forward and patted her hand. "No dream. He *is* dead."

She laughed nervously. "He didn't have a twin... did he?"

Danny shook his head. "No twin... no brothers or sisters."

Relief flooded her eyes but Jack could understand why. She had barely escaped from Leonard Marliston and had witnessed at least one killing -- that of one of her father's deputies as he watched over the kids at the party. Marliston had split the man's skull with an axe right in front of her and her boyfriend, Kenny, using the same axe that he had used upon her father.

With no more information forthcoming, Jack ended the interview. They walked to the car in silence, and only when the doors were shut did Danny speak out.

"Your questionable truth again."

"I know... and all we have to work out is which part is the lie and which part the truth."

"*And* we have to work out what else she's hiding," Danny added unhappily, knowing they were no closer to figuring out why Paul Sisler had taken the missing men, and more importantly, where.

-ooOOoo-

Paul could not handle the task of seeing to Brent's injuries, being too squeamish so, finally, he relented and uncuffed Martin. He stood some distance away with a gun loaded, ready to defend himself should Martin take advantage of the situation. Martin ignored him, pushing away all thoughts of the gun at his back as he tended the injured man.

He washed his hands thoroughly and then dipped a small piece of the wadding into the cooled, boiled water, cleaning away the small amount of yellowish pus oozing from places where the axe had bitten deeper into Brent's flesh. He tried to be as gentle as he could but Brent still flinched and whimpered with every stroke.

Once he was certain the wounds were as clean as he could make them, Martin soothed the inflamed wounds with the antiseptic cream. He covered the worst areas with dressing but there was not enough to strap the arm and shoulder securely. He did find a packet of Tylenol at the bottom of the First Aid kit and popped two from the blister pack, encouraging Brent to take them with a little water. He doubted they could do any more than temporarily dull the edge off Brent's pain but it had to be better than nothing at all.

He noticed that Paul watched him carefully as he flushed the bloodied water down the toilet and then refilled the makeshift basin with tepid water from the tap. Martin grabbed a wash cloth and returned to Brent's side, dipping the cloth in the water and carefully bathing the fevered flesh. Part of him kept a watch on Paul Sisler, uncertain how the man -- who had confessed his love for Brent Marken -- would react to the almost intimate physical contact between Martin and Brent.

"Feels good." Brent's voice was soft and weak.

Martin smiled, aware of the closeness that had built between them over the matter of a few hours. There was something about this man, and the tragedy that had shadowed his life, that pulled at Martin on a mental level even as his body was drawn to Brent on the physical. His fingers seemed to tingle wherever they touched Brent's flesh, and he wondered if this was some variation on the 'hostage' syndrome.

Truth was, though, that he'd been attracted to Brent Marken on some subliminal level from the moment Jack placed the photo on the white board; filling him with needs that he had never consciously noted before. The soft green eyes had seemed to bore into his with a ghostly cry for help that had little to do with his disappearance, as if he held the power to save Brent Marken from the tragedy of his life.

That seemed a ridiculous notion. He knew part of his feelings must have been fueled with the profile of Brent gained from the 'Virgin Killer' case as the Media dug deep into his life, hoping to dig up the skeletons in his past. However, Martin could not deny the strength of his ever-growing attraction to Brent, which in turn made him question his own sexuality.

When had Brent realized that his discomfort with girls had risen *not* from shyness but from a deep-seated longing for his own gender?

What about his own awkwardness with women? He thought about all the times he had been to the singles bars since coming to New York. The women would seem so interested in him, encouraging him to make the first move but, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to accept their advances. He had come as close as escorting one girl home, even accepted the offer of a coffee, but he had made his excuses and run the moment she started to press him into staying the night in her bed.

It had been different with Sam. He had actually taken the first step and invited her out for a drink but she had other plans for that night and turned him down.

What was the difference?

Martin rinsed the wash cloth and squeezed out the excess water, stroking the soft cloth over Brent's stubbled cheek and jaw, then down the strong neck to wipe at the sweat pooling in the hollow at the base of his throat.

He knew the answer to his question, for why it had been easier to make the first move with Sam. He knew her. He knew she was safe... that she would not expect them to jump into bed together after a couple of drinks. He realized that all he had wanted from her -- and from the others -- was someone to take away the loneliness for a short time; someone to talk to instead of returning to his expensive but empty apartment alone. It would have been more logical to have made that offer of a drink to Danny but he had only just started to feel comfortable with him on a working level.

It had never occurred to him why he had been disinterested in a sexual relationship with her, or with any of the other women who had taken interest in him. He had assumed he had a puritanic streak, something instilled in him since childhood, but now the doubts were rising as he saw the parallels between him and Brent.

How long had Brent lived in subconscious denial of his true needs before realizing that he had wasted his life in a loveless marriage to Marge?

"How is he?"

Paul came close and Martin noticed that Brent had fallen into an uneasy sleep under his tender ministrations.

"He needs a hospital. He needs pain meds, and antibiotics to counteract the infection."

"How long do you think he'll live once they know where to find him?"

"How long do you think he'll live if gangrene sets in? He needs these wounds properly cleaned by people who know what they're doing." Martin could see Paul was caught between the two truths and tried to press his advantage through knowing how much this man cared for Brent. "We can protect him in the hospital. I can arrange for him to have guards posted outside his room... 24/7."

Paul's eyes hardened. "Why should I trust you? I know who you are. Your father's a powerful man in the FBI, probably socializes with the likes of the McKays and Adnam-Whites. You probably even know them... went to private schools with their kids... attended the same high society functions." He leaned in closer. "Are they paying you to find Brent and tell them where he is? Or are you doing it for *daddy*?"

"Yes... Deputy Fitzgerald is my father but, no, I'm not working for him -- or for them. I work for Jack Malone, the head of the Missing Person's Unit in the FBI, and it's my job to find people like Brent... people who've disappeared without a trace."

Martin sat back, his eyes beseeching Paul to listen.

"Jack's a good man. He *can* help... if you'll let him." He looked down as Brent cried out softly in pain, and Martin pressed the back of his hand against the hot and clammy skin. "His fever's getting worse, Paul. If you do love him... If you do want him to live... then you have to let me help him. You have to let me get him to a hospital."

Paul's anger deflated as he reached out to touch the object of his unrequited love. He nodded slowly, accepting Martin's word. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out his car keys and held them out to Martin. Martin let his eyes show his thanks as he took the keys.

"Will you help me carry him to the car?"

Paul replaced the safety lock and tucked the gun back inside his pocket. He helped Martin wrap the bed cover around Brent and then, together, they lifted the sick man and carried him from the motel to Sisler's Mondeo.

Carefully, they placed Brent in the back, lying him across the whole rear seat. Martin stood up after closing the rear passenger door and stared at Paul, unsure if he would be coming along too. With a sigh, Paul stepped back, his eyes firing with menace.

"I'm trusting you."

A silent promise hung in the air between them, and Martin had no doubts that Paul Sisler would be watching and waiting, fully prepared to exact revenge if Martin betrayed Brent. Martin acknowledged the threat with a promise of his own, that he wouldn't let Brent down.

Less than half an hour later Martin pulled into the ER close to Newark and called for assistance. He watched as Brent was taken out of the car and transferred to a gurney, refusing to be parted from his charge for even a moment. After showing his badge and identifying himself as a Federal Agent, Martin requested access to a cellphone and then asked them to bring a police officer.

The nurse handed him a phone and he quickly tapped in a number.

"Jack? It's Martin. I'm okay... and I've got Brent Marken."

-ooOOoo-

Forty-Four Hours Missing:

Jack looked around the conference table as various factions argued over which would be the best course of action to take. His eyes alighted on Vivian's and he knew her thoughts mirrored his own. They did not have time for this. Brent Marken and Martin Fitzgerald were slipping away with every passing hour.

At the head of the table, Deputy Director Victor Fitzgerald looked controlled, trying to act professionally, but Jack recognized the lines of strain on his face. No matter what Martin thought of his father, he *was* loved, and not just as an object for his father to use -- as Martin believed. This man was hurting, his single slip revealing how much as he referred to Martin as his 'little boy' during one tense moment. Jack had heard many fathers make that slip, no matter how old the child. It was if a parent never truly forgot those early years when they had nurtured, cared for and protected their young.

Loralee Marliston had been the reason for the conference; the discovery of her body upgrading the case from missing person to possible homicide. By rights, Jack should have been ordered to hand over everything he and his team had collected on this case to the Homicide division of the FBI. However, Jack knew Assistant Director Tony McGraw and they held mutual respect for each other's competence. McGraw had been the one to insist that Jack's team stay on the case while his agents were brought up to speed.

"A woman dressed as Loralee Marliston was witnessed having an argument with a man ID'd as Greg Marliston at the airport less than *three* days ago. This woman was obviously an imposter in light of the recent discovery of the body. This brings the homicide investigation within the boundaries of New York and hence--."

Finally, Jack had enough and decided to get the meeting back on track. He broke into the argument between the NYPD and FBI, who were debating who had jurisdiction over the Loralee Marliston murder enquiry.

"Greg Marliston stormed out of the airport... and has not been seen since."

"Yes... Yes... We know all this." The NYPD lieutenant huffed in anger. "We have an APB out on him and the Media has been broadcasting his picture all over the state."

"What if he never left the airport?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has anyone checked the car parks at JFK?"

There was a moment of silence and then the NYPD lieutenant made a call, setting Jack's suggestion in motion. Jack had no idea if anything would come of it but at least it brought the fruitless argument between the others to a halt and put people's minds back on the case.

As the others trawled through the known data, searching for clues, Jack let his mind float away again.

There were too many anomalies in this case. Marge Marken had seen a man in a scruffy denim jacket enter the airport after she left Brent Marken waiting for his flight to New York. Virginia Allen had seen a man in a scruffy denim jacket covertly watching her and Brent while they waited out the rush hour at JFK. Both women had identified that man to be Greg Marliston and yet, apart from the clothing, none of the stewardesses on that flight had identified his face from the ID photo.

Of course, they might have been mistaken. After all, they saw so many new faces every single day, and someone *had* boarded that plane under Greg Marliston's name, dressed in clothes that matched Greg Marliston's normal attire. But what if they had not been mistaken?

The Jehovah's Witness had positively identified Greg Marliston as the man who rudely pushed by him... which means that Marliston had been at JFK less than an hour after Brent Marken's plane landed.

Jack pondered over this, coming to a new conclusion. What if Greg Marliston had never been on that flight but, like Loralee, the seat had been taken by an imposter? But that would mean that Marge Marken had lied about seeing Greg Marliston at the airport close to Cherry Falls.

Jack recalled how Marge Marken had chain-smoked all the way through the interview. At the time he had put it down to the stress of the past few weeks, and then to the added stress following the disappearance of her estranged husband. But what if her nervousness had come from another source?

Jack began to relate his thoughts concerning Marge Marken to the investigators present in the room. When he glanced towards Fitzgerald, he half expected to see the man fuming, believing that Jack was about to send them off on another wild goose chase but instead he saw begrudging respect.

Jack looked away... almost embarrassed by the silent approval from a man who had treated him so shabbily earlier. He turned to Vivian, wanting to question her about another piece of information when the cellphone vibrated in his pocket.

"Excuse me."

Jack moved several feet away from the table to answer the call, his mouth dropping open slightly in shock as a familiar voice came onto the line.

"Jack? It's Martin."

"Martin!! Where are you?" Jack noticed all eyes turn to him, and saw Fitzgerald rise from his seat with eyes full of hope.

"I'm okay... and I've got Brent Marken."

"Where?" Quickly, he strode to the table and grabbed a pen, scribbling the details down onto a piece of paper. "Stay where you are. I'll have officers on the way to you immediately."

"Agent Malone?"

Fitzgerald was right beside him, and Jack handed the cellphone over to him, seeing the surprise in the Deputy Director's eyes.

"Martin?" He grinned shakily, and Jack looked away as a film of tears glistened in the man's eyes. "Are you injured?" Fitzgerald closed his eyes in relief at the answer. "I'm handing you back to Agent Malone."

While Jack gave Martin some last orders before disconnecting the call, he saw Fitzgerald break the news to the others. He wished Martin could have seen the look on his father's face as he took that call, for his father's strained words had lacked any verbal indication of his joy at knowing his 'little boy' was alive and well. There was no doubt in Jack's mind that Martin would misinterpret this as a lack of caring as the two seemed destined to misunderstand each other.

Both missing men were in a hospital just outside of Newark and Jack quickly discovered the benefit of having a Deputy Director of the FBI on the case. Fitzgerald made arrangements for them to be taken to Newark by helicopter and, within fifteen minutes they were airborne. Soon after, they were landing on the helipad on top of the hospital.

They were directed straight to the ICU where Brent Marken had been hooked up to various equipment to monitor his condition, and with an IV tube feeding strong antibiotics directly into his bloodstream. Beside him, Martin was asleep in a chair, having finally given in to the exhaustion of the day and to his own injuries. A white bandage around his head lay testament to the fact that he had not been taken from Central Park without force.

A white-coated doctor appeared and Fitzgerald introduced the small party, but the doctor turned to Jack.

"He refused to leave his duty station until you arrived, Agent Malone."

"How is he?" Fitzgerald looked back at the doctor, then added, "He's my son."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware you were family. He took a blow to the head, and he may have a mild concussion but, otherwise, he's fine. Just needs to take it easy for a few days."

"And Marken?" Jack asked.

"These half-healed wounds got infected. We'll keep him here in ICU overnight to see how he reacts to the antibiotics. If he shows improvement by morning then we'll move him to a private room."

"Can we question him?"

"Not until morning. He needs to rest."

Jack nodded his thanks and watched as the doctor made a few notes before leaving to see to his other patients.

Jack tried not to watch as Fitzgerald covertly touched Martin's hair, wishing he could afford the man some privacy. Having children of his own, he could understand the man's need to affirm his son's living presence after these past traumatic hours.

-ooOOoo--

Martin awoke at the gentle touch on his hair and pushed back from the bed where he had rested his head intending to close his eyes for only a minute. His gaze took in the pale, drawn yet still handsome features of Brent Marken, feeling relief flood through him that Brent was sleeping peacefully. It was then that he realized that he was not alone in the room with Brent. Martin turned his head as a familiar voice called his name, blinking in surprise when he saw his father standing over him.

"Dad?"

His father's presence confused him as he had not exactly sounded overjoyed to learn that he was alive and safe. Martin tried to stand but was surprised at how weak he felt. The rational part of his mind told him that he'd probably been running on adrenaline alone since waking up in the dingy motel next to Brent.

"Martin?"

Another familiar voice, and Martin turned to face Jack Malone, smiling in relief. Although he'd not been on the team long, he had come to trust Jack implicitly.

"Martin, what happened? And where's Paul Sisler?"

"Sisler let us go when he realized Brent needed a hospital. Jack... he never intended to hurt him... or me. He thought he was protecting him. I can't tell you much more than that... just that he believed Brent was in danger, and that's why he took him from the airport."

"Did he say who he needed to protect him from?"

"McKay and Adnam-White."

Jack looked at Martin's father and saw guilt fill the man's eyes at how he had obstructed their attempt to interview McKay not long before Martin went missing.

"Well, Agent Malone. It's apparent that your involvement in this case is over. Both missing persons have been located--"

"What about Greg Marliston?"

"He is part of an ongoing murder investigation. I will expect you to hand over all pertinent data to Assistant Director McGraw effective immediately."

Jack remained silent for a moment, and then answered politely, "Yes, sir."

 

"I'll have the helicopter return here after taking me to Newark International -- to take you and Agent Fitzgerald back to the Missing Person's Office where I expect Agent Fitzgerald to write a full report." Fitzgerald turned and walked away, only looking back when he reached the threshold of the ICU room. "Martin? I expect you to call your mother... today."

Martin fumed, part of him angry on Jack's behalf, and the other part of him resentful for his father's lack of parental affection. He couldn't understand this need for his father to always be in control. Would it have hurt him to show that he cared that his son was alive? Would it have damaged his position to acknowledge that he was his father as well as being his superior?

When his eyes flicked to Jack he read sadness there, and he hoped it was not pity for him but rather for the offhand way in which his father had dismissed them both from the Brent Marken case.

Martin looked back at the man still sleeping beside him, and he sighed in frustration. He had made a promise to ensure Brent would be protected, asking Sisler to place his faith in Jack Malone but Jack could do little to help if they were no longer involved in the case.

"Will Assistant Director McGraw provide a twenty-four hour guard?"

"Arrangements have already been made."

Jack moved to the window that looked out into the corridor. Beyond he could see the nurses going about their duties with quiet efficiency, and he watched as a uniformed police officer took a seat just a little way along from the door where he would have a good view of anyone coming in any direction.

Martin knew someone would contact them once the helicopter was ready for them but he found he did not want to leave Brent Marken's side. However, his father's orders had been very clear.

"Am I on light duties or on a leave of absence after writing up the report?"

"I can give you a few days if you need it." Jack's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Where do you want to be?"

"Here."

"I can't do that officially. Missing Person's is no longer on this case." Jack sank down into the second seat placed beside viewing window. "They pulled Loralee Marliston's body out of the lake in Cherry Falls. She'd been dead two weeks."

"But how can she--?"

Martin stopped mid flow as Jack raised a sardonic eyebrow. "So Sisler was right. They are out to silence anyone who could start a scandal."

He looked back at Brent in concern, now more certain than ever that he needed to stay close to the injured and so vulnerable man. To keep my promise to Sisler, he thought, hoping to convince himself that there was nothing more to it than that.

Martin listened carefully as Jack outlined all the information gathered since earlier that day and, silently, he wished they had been left on the case. Although they had fulfilled their objectives, he felt a need to see this through to the end, and one look into Jack's eyes told him that Jack felt the same.

"This isn't the first time we've had to hand everything over and walk away... and it won't be the last."

Martin sighed, realizing the truth of Jack's words. Only a few days earlier they had handed over all their paperwork to FBI Homicide after little Angie McCormack was found murdered. This time was no different except they had found their missing person alive, and yet Martin could not help but feel that he had a personal stake in this particular case.

An orderly leaned in and caught Jack's attention. "Helicopter's ETA is five minutes."

Jack nodded and let out a deep breath, pushing back to his feet. He held out an arm which Martin took gratefully. The room seemed to reel for a moment but Jack's arm remained solid beneath his, waiting for him to regain his equilibrium.

Martin took one last look at Brent Marken. He felt a butterfly sensation inside him as his eyes trailed over the handsome face, memorizing the curl of blond eyelashes fluttering over the hidden soft green eyes. His own eyes traced the bow of the top lip before being drawn to the fullness of the slightly pouting lower and he clamped down hard on the strangest urge to press his own mouth against Brent's; like a prince to his sleeping beauty.

Slightly shaken by the thought, he hoped Jack had not noticed his temporary distraction, or had put it down to his head injury. With a dull ache in his chest that held no truly physical cause, Martin turned away and followed the orderly along the corridor, barely aware of Jack's hand hovering close by in case he needed support.

-ooOOoo-

Later that afternoon:

Brent awoke to the strangely familiar sounds of monitors, and was confused by a sense of deja vu when he saw Jody sitting next to him. Yet he felt there should have been someone else seated there; someone with deep blue eyes who spoke assurances to him in a gravely, low voice.

"Daddy?"

As he looked into her pale, tired face, part of him cried for her loss of innocence; a loss more damning than her virginity. All of her life he had led her to believe that he stood for justice and now she had discovered the worst of the skeletons hiding in the darkest corners of his soul, and he felt bitterly ashamed.

"I'm sorry he hurt you. All my fault."

"No. No, it wasn't... and I'm okay."

He had made a confession that night in Leonard Marliston's basement, professing to have known exactly what he had been doing when they raped Loralee. He had even made no attempt to destroy Marliston's delusion that he was his father. All in the hope that Marliston would be appeased and let Jody go, especially if he thought they might be brother and sister... but to no avail.

Had Jody believed every word spoken?

He wished he could explain why it had happened to Loralee that night, and how her ordeal had played on his mind for all these years, sucking all the pleasure from his life. He had punished himself further by casting aside all his dreams of leaving the small town -- with its narrow-minded morals -- far behind, and allowing his parents to push him into a loveless marriage.

After a year working in the family business, his need to find peace through finding justice for others -- the justice he could not give to Loralee -- had eventually led him into law enforcement. His estrangement from his father had resulted from that decision, so he had not been surprised when his father left everything to Ginny on his death.

In time, the memory of Loralee faded, only brought back to mind when Tom Sisler came back to the town as the Principal of the High School. Brent made no attempt to renew their friendship, trying to push the past firmly behind him, and yet the past would come back to haunt him, over and over, and in so many different forms.

Brent recalled all his fears on the day Jody was born; the joy of her birth overshadowed by how fragile she was as he held her tiny form in his arms. Perhaps she understood now why he had always been so protective of her: wanting to know where she was, who she was seeing. Wanting her to contact him if ever she found herself in any difficulty.

For years he had visions of her standing by the roadside on a dark evening beside a broken down car. He saw her accepting the help of someone she felt no fear from, only to discover that person was a monster in disguise -- just as Loralee had discovered that night. His fears had been realized when Jody ran to Leonard Marliston on that fateful night, believing he was someone she could trust.

"Aunt Ginny told me everything that happened that night. How Tom Sisler slipped drugs into your beer so you didn't even know where you were or what you were doing... and I believe her."

"You don't know--"

"I know enough about macho games... and about you... to know this is not something you would have done knowingly."

Jody reached out and squeezed his hand gently and he felt some of the years of burden lighten from his shoulders. He couldn't expect instant forgiveness from her despite her words but he knew she had at least accepted Virginia's account as the truth.

"Daddy, I have to go back to Cherry Falls... now I know you're safe. Kenny's still in the hospital and I promised--"

Brent shushed her. "It's okay." He squeezed her hand, smiling softly at her. "I'll be fine."

"I'll be back in two days... or perhaps you can ask them to transfer you back to Cherry Falls hospital?"

"I'm not going back. Least not for a while yet. Not until I can straighten out all this."

"I'll phone as soon as I get home." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you, daddy."

"Love you too."

The last of his energy drained away as soon as she left his room, and he closed his heavy eyelids, falling into a dreamless sleep.

-ooOOoo-

6:15 PM Newark Airport

Officer Hillman stretched as he waited for the flight to be called. Beside him, Jody Marken sat in silence, and he assumed she was thinking about the past few days. He had been tasked with escorting her to the airport and seeing that she made her flight but he had to admit that he would have preferred being the one given guard duty over the girl's father. Babysitting some slip of a girl was not his idea of real police work.

Eventually the flight was called and he gave a sigh of relief as he accompanied her to the gate. He watched her walk through and he gave a perfunctory wave as she disappeared down the corridor beyond...

-ooOOoo-

Three hours later:

"And you don't recall seeing anyone acting suspiciously?"

"No, sir."

Jack looked across at Danny but could see he had no questions to ask at this time. They let Officer Hillman leave on condition that he make himself available for further questioning at a later time.

Jack walked up to the white board and he stared at the pretty Marken girl who had never boarded her flight home, wondering who should break the news to her father.

-ooOOoo-

It had taken a little longer than he had anticipated but Martin managed to write up his reports and hand them to Jack by late afternoon. Now, he was back in his small but well furnished apartment, lying on his bed and gazing up at the ceiling.

He had spoken to his mom... not because his dad had practically ordered him to do so, but because it was the right thing to do. She would have seen the Media reports of his abduction from earlier that morning, and she would have been frantic with worry. It didn't matter that she would have seen the later news cycle that told of his safe return for he knew she would keep on worrying until she heard his voice or saw his face.

Martin smiled at the remembered love and relief so evident in her voice as compared to the cold efficiency displayed by his father. As always, she had tried to make excuses for his dad, and he had brushed them aside, not wanting to spoil this time with his mom.

As he lay there, he felt a little guilty and annoyed in knowing that his dad had been right about one thing. He ought to phone his mom more often, just to let her know that he was doing okay, realizing that his excuses sounded feeble even to him. He did work strange hours -- long hours -- but there were always moments during a day when he could take a few minutes to make that short call.

Once he had exhausted all thoughts along those lines, inevitably, they turned back to the case -- and to Brent Marken.

He thought about this stranger who had come into his life, wondering what had made Brent different from all the other missing person cases he had handled since joining Jack's team. They had to profile every single one of their cases -- adult and child alike -- delving into their lives in the hope of discovering something that would lead them to that person. Brent Marken had been no different though it was rare for any of them to have foreknowledge of the missing person. However, he had been following the events of the 'Virgin Killer' murders as the small town came to grips with the idea of having a serial killer among them.

Martin knew his initial impression must have been formed from the way Brent had handled the events in Cherry Falls. Brent's investigation had led them to the truth, even though it had been an ugly truth involving his past... and no one could fault his heroism as he all but gave his life to buy his daughter time to escape from the clutches of the killer. Martin had seen the damage caused by the axe on Brent's body, and he wondered if Brent would bear those scars with honor or as a symbol of past failures.

It had to be hard being torn between the heroism of the present and the sins of the past. Certainly, the towns people were equally torn concerning Brent Marken.

As part of the investigation into Brent's disappearance, Martin had watched the last footage of Brent on the Media channels. He recalled the scene as Brent left the hospital in Cherry Falls, with reporters surging forward demanding a statement and angry parents hurling abuse in the background. Yet, within a few days, the small town had clammed up tight, refusing to discuss that incident from Brent's past as they rallied around to protect him instead. It was a testament to his popularity, as if no one had truly wanted to believe he could be a rapist despite Loralee Marliston's implication that he had been among the four boys who raped her, along with Tom Sisler.

FBI agents had gone through all the records held in the library archive and within the Sheriff's department but, as no charges were ever laid against the boys, there had been no names mentioned. Only the old sheriff, his deputies and the families involved had known all the details, and none of them were talking any longer. Of course, it was likely that McKay and Adnam-White had bought off certain individuals years ago, just as they had paid Loralee for her silence.

It also seemed likely that the renewed accusations she had been sent to the Media had been an attempt to gain even more money now that the son conceived out of that rape had gained notoriety as a serial killer. However, her threat had backfired, forcing the hand of one of those powerful families to silence her permanently -- and now they had killed once, it would be easier to kill again, and clean up all the potentially harmful witnesses.

Martin frowned, wondering how Paul Sisler had found out about the plan to dispose of the Marlistons and Brent Marken. He had few doubts that Greg Marliston would show up dead eventually... though they could have dumped his body anywhere. Although Sisler worked for a subsidiary of Adnam-Whites empire, it was unlikely that the information had come from that source, especially as he had been involved in making the funeral arrangements for his murdered brother over the past two weeks.

"Of course!"

Martin wanted to smack himself on the head. He had forgotten that Tom Sisler had been married to Carolyn McKay so it was possible that he had overheard a discussion between the McKay siblings.

Even though it was all conjecture, Martin reached for the phone, intending to pass along his thoughts to Jack in the hope that he would, in turn, pass them onto McGraw. He cursed with shock as the phone rang almost as he touched it, and snatched it from its cradle, a smile forming at the coincidence as he heard Jack's voice on the other end of the line. But then Jack's words sank in.

"Missing? Does Brent know?"

"I'm heading over to Newark right now. Wanted to know if you felt up to accompanying me."

"I'm climbing the walls here... too much time to think."

"Then I'll drop by on route. Ten minutes, Martin."

"I'll be ready."

-ooOOoo-

Jack glanced at Martin covertly as they drove through the lighter evening traffic towards Newark, wondering if Martin realized that he referred to Brent Marken with a familiarity usually reserved for family and close acquaintances. But then, Martin had spent several fear-filled hours with Brent Marken that morning, possibly afraid for both of their lives, and Jack knew how quickly friendships could develop under such circumstances.

He thought about his decision to bring Martin along even though his junior agent should have been granted at least this one night of rest before being thrown back into a case. His decision had hinged on the fledgling friendship that he had been considering only moments before. He had a feeling Marken might be more inclined to share information if Martin was there, for there could be only one reason why Jody Marken had disappeared so soon after her father had been recovered.

Although he still had no proof of their involvement, Jack's instincts told him that the McKays and Adnam-White would want Marken to remain silent. In truth, he was convinced that they had meant to kill him, having already disposed of Loralee, but their plans had been foiled by Paul Sisler's timely intervention. He knew it would still be in their best interest to kill Marken. However, that would not be an easy task while Marken was in the hospital under police protection, for security was too tight. The next best option would be to threaten the life of someone Marken loved -- someone like his daughter, Jody.

Jack expected to discover that Jody's kidnapper had already contacted Marken, ensuring his silence, and Jack knew it would be up to him and Martin to convince Marken that whoever had taken her had no intention of letting her live. Like her father, she knew too much that could be damaging to them. All 'they' needed to do was keep her alive long enough to lead Marken to his death.

It was for this same reason that Jack had requested additional Police protection for both Virginia Allen and Marge Marken. Both of those women also knew more than enough to give weight to Loralee's accusations and, therefore, force a scandal upon them.

His cellphone trilled just as they were sliding into a parking bay outside the Newark hospital, and Jack answered, recognizing Tony McGraw's voice.

"We found Greg Marliston."

"Alive?"

"No. His body was snared in a fishing net off the coast of Hong Kong. He'd been in the water at least a day but the estimated time of death is a little suspect. Coroner seems to think he might have been frozen. And we haven't yet figured out how he got there."

Jack frowned as a half-remembered story flashed into his head.

"Is it close to the airport?"

"About ten miles from where they found the body."

Jack could hear puzzlement in McGraw's voice.

"Then what are the chances that he might have been killed at JFK and his body stashed behind the landing gear of a plane heading to Hong Kong?"

There was silence at the other end as the agent took in this scenario, but Jack knew it was feasible as he recalled that story of two frozen corpses found in a field close to London Heathrow. British detectives had realized that the field lay directly beneath the flight path of planes landing at the busy international airport, and quickly surmised that the two unfortunate men had planned to illegally enter the UK by stowing away behind the landing gear. Unfortunately, it had not occurred to them that the plane flew at high altitude and so they had frozen to death, their bodies tumbling from the plane when the landing gear was lowered upon arrival at Heathrow.

Jack had a feeling someone else knew of that story too, and had thought it a seemingly perfect way to dispose of the body by hiding it on a plane that approached the Hong Kong airport over the sea. Greg Marliston's body would drop into the vastness of the South China Sea where they presumed it would have quickly become a meal for the sharks. They could not have anticipated that the body would be snared by a local fisherman.

"A little far-fetched but then, we found Marliston's car at JFK so maybe he never left there alive. I'll pass along that scenario... and get my people to check out who might have had access to a plane heading to Hong Kong."

The line disconnected and Jack turned to see a look of amazement in Martin's eyes.

"You really think that could have happened?"

Jack knew Martin was talking about the scenario he had suggested to McGraw. "I know it could have... and if it pans out then there is every chance they will use the same method to dispose of Jody Marken."

"You think she's dead?"

"No. Not yet."

"Could they be holding her at Newark?"

"Possibly. But if they have access to planes then they might have transported her anywhere in the world."

"I don't recall Adnam-White having any subsidiaries attached to the airport. Apart from the Media services, he's mostly small parts technology... building components used in the manufacture of household appliances. The takeover bid is for a transportation firm which has offices at the airport but its highly unlikely that they'd be involved due to the nature of the takeover. The management are fighting the bid tooth and claw, trying to dig up the dirt... anything to stop the takeover."

"But Adnam-White wants the firm under his control so he can reduce transportation costs?"

"You got it. It's an important deal to him... so he can't afford a scandal right now."

They stepped out of the car and made their way up to the ICU, waving their ID's at the police officer on guard duty just outside Brent Marken's room. Inside, they found Marken awake and staring at the ceiling as if deep in thought. He looked towards the door as Jack entered; his green eyes hardening, lips tightening.

Just as Jack feared, it looked as if Marken had already been informed of his daughter's disappearance and was determined to keep silent as promised. However, as Martin stepped into the room from behind him, Jack saw those eyes widen slightly and then soften as Martin greeted him.

"Brent." Brent's smile widened almost imperceptibly. "How are you feeling?"

"Doing fine... thanks to you."

Martin gave a soft, almost shy smile as he took the seat closest to where Marken lay. He indicated towards Jack, introducing him with a small measure of pride in his voice that made Jack feel good inside. Marken seemed to register that warmth for some of the hostility had left his eyes by the time they met his once more.

"I want to help you find your daughter but I can't do that unless you're willing to trust me."

Marken said nothing, and neither did his expression change, giving no clue as to how he had received Jack's words.

"We know all about Loralee Marliston. We know the names of all four boys involved that night." Jack noticed the slightest wince of pain cross the handsome features. "And we also know that you were not responsible for what happened."

"You don't know that."

"I pride myself on being a pretty good judge of character, and everything I've seen and heard about you supports that judgment."

Jack saw that he had Marken's full attention. From Martin's report it was apparent that Paul Sisler believed Brent Marken was a closet Gay, either in denial of his sexual preference, or knowingly denying himself the chance to be with his preferred gender.

From the profile Jack had built up with Danny, Vivian, Sam and Martin, Jack would be willing to bet that Sisler was right.

Confused by his sexuality, and afraid of the repercussions should he be branded a homosexual, Brent would have tried to play along with Marge's attempt to prove he liked Girls. However, her seduction of him had been interrupted by Marge's father. If it had been the other way around, and it had been Brent Marken making all the moves on Marge, then Jack would have had more difficulty believing he could be innocent of trying to force himself onto Loralee.

The story that Marken had related to Martin -- which had, in turn, been related to him via Martin's report -- held far too many truths to be questionable. It was backed up by the accounts and actions of others both directly and indirectly.

He thought about Marken's nature from the profile. Marken was the kind of man who treated his obligations and promises seriously so, no matter what the state of his marriage, Jack doubted the man would ever stray... unlike his wife.

"You're not the type to prey on the vulnerable and the weak. The opposite, in fact." Jack let the silence ride between them for a moment, wanting Marken to fully digest his words. "Do you know who has taken your daughter?"

Marken turned his face away, still unwilling to share any information despite Jack's friendly overtures towards him. Jack looked to Martin, silently giving his permission for the younger man to try and get through to Marken.

"Brent?"

Just the slightest head movement but Jack saw that Marken could not help but acknowledge Martin's voice, as if he was drawn to him out of more than just respect for someone who might have saved his life.

Martin leaned forward. "They killed Loralee... *and* her husband, Greg Marliston."

Brent chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "Paulie seemed to think they wanted me dead too."

"I think Paulie was right."

Martin reached out and touched Marken's hand in a gesture that spoke volumes to Jack. It was an intimacy that most men would have shaken off in confusion, and yet Marken seemed to relax under Martin's touch.

"You know they're going to kill her."

Marken closed his eyes at Martin's words, and turned his head away. "Not while I live... and stay silent."

Jack took a step forward. "Is your wife involved with them?"

Marken's eyes snapped open. "What do you mean?"

"She may have already lied to us once. She told us she saw Greg Marliston at the airport after she left you by the departure gate. We have several witnesses who positively ID'd him at JFK... and yet no one on your flight recalls seeing him, only someone dressed similarly."

"Maybe she was mistaken... saw someone who resembled--"

"No. I spoke to Deputy Sheriff Mina. Mrs. Marken ID'd him without any trace of doubt."

Marken looked away but Jack could tell his thoughts had turned inwards, but they were interrupted when a nurse stepped into the room with two orderlies.

"We're moving Mr. Marken to a private room."

"I thought you were going to wait until morning?"

"His condition has stabilized and, frankly, we need the bed in ICU."

They were told to wait outside while they unhooked Marken from all the monitors, but no one objected as they accompanied the orderlies on the transference to a private room several floors above. The Police guard smiled grimly as he tucked himself into the corner of the overcrowded elevator and they rode the elevator in silence.

They had to wait outside as the nurse and orderlies settled Marken into his new room, and then were given permission to enter, on one condition. Marken needed rest so they had fifteen minutes to conclude their business with him.

Martin settled down on the seat beside Marken without a second thought, unconsciously straightening the light cover placed over the injured man. Jack could see from the paleness of Marken's complexion that the room change had caused him some physical pain but Marken remained uncomplaining.

He still had that one question uppermost in his mind. How was Marge Marken involved in all of this? Had she lied deliberately to cover for the person who had occupied Marliston's seat on that flight, or had she merely been told to say she saw Marliston at the airport?

Marken spoke softly... and Jack strained to hear him.

"I think they wanted to frame Marliston for my murder. Having him at both airports makes it look like he was following me. Takes just an extra nudge to point the finger of accusation at him after I turn up dead... motive and opportunity."

Jack took a seat. "Why kill him then?"

"Because Paulie got to me first... and maybe he spotted them."

"Them?"

Jack watched as Marken's eyes slid away. "I didn't see anyone at the airport. Only Paulie and Ginny."

"Your sister."

He knew the man was lying to him and wished he could break through the silence to get the names he needed. Without hard evidence -- or a witness -- they had no reason to detain any of the McKays of Adnam-White for questioning, and no just cause for gaining search warrants. However, Marken would only admit to having seen two people he knew at JFK.

Jack frowned as an ugly possibility reared its head. What if Virginia Allen had been in on the abduction? What if she had been the imposter pretending to be Loralee Marliston? Certainly she had the opportunity for she had waited at least fifteen minutes before making it look as though she was concerned for her brother's whereabouts.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Having been forewarned of her brother's arrival in New York, she could have made all the necessary arrangements to have him kidnapped. It would also explain her lack of ease when they questioned her last. Both he and Danny knew she was hiding something. Could this be it?

Also, what was Paul Sisler doing outside her apartment building earlier this morning? Had he come to let her know her brother was safe? Or had he come to warn her to stay away from Brent Marken? Jack realized that this was one question Marken might answer and so he asked.

"Ginny already knew I was with Paulie. He'd just left her with the news when Martin showed up... stupidly hung around, intending to go back and see if there was more information. Didn't expect to get spotted... chased."

"Is that why he took Martin? For information?"

"I suppose so... was so sick I just can't remember much more."

The nurse stepped into the room. "Your fifteen minutes are up... now."

Reluctantly, Martin stood up, gently touching Marken's good shoulder in a reassuring gesture. Jack saw the look that passed between them: a mixture of want and confusion, knowing that neither man truly understood the feelings they each held for the other.

When they reached the car, Jack slid into the driver's seat and waited until Martin was settled before pulling away. They rode in silence for a while, and then Jack outlined his plan for the coming day.

"I want you to go back to the hospital tomorrow and stay with Marken. See if you can get him to talk... but don't push it. Both McKay and Adnam-White are rich and powerful enough to have any number of people in their pocket... and we don't want to force their hand until we're ready."

"Sounds like babysitting duty."

"You want me to give it to Sam or Vivian?"

"No!" Martin looked away, momentarily embarrassed by his outburst. "What about the rest of the team?"

"I've got Sam and Vivian working with McGraw's people at Newark airport." Jack glanced at Martin before focusing back on the road ahead, smiling softly at further confirmation that Brent Marken had gotten to Martin. However, his thoughts sobered as he recalled that Marken had a wife, even if they were estranged. "I'm going back to Cherry Falls. I'm planning to have another talk with Mrs. Marken... and I'm taking Danny with me this time."

"Do you think she's in on her own daughter's kidnapping?"

"No... but I do think she knows far more than she's letting on."

-ooOOoo-

6:15 a.m 12 Hours Missing

Martin stared at the bedside clock. He had slept on and off through the night but his dreams had been weird, filled with strange imaginings.

In this last waking dream he walked into his bedroom to find Brent lying naked on his bed beneath the thin cotton sheets. The window was open, and the curtains rippling in the cool, pre-dawn breeze like some erotic effect in a vampire movie he had seen as a kid.

He approached the bed, looking down at the sleeping figure; his eyes were drawn to the handsome face. Weeks of pain and stress had eased away in sleep, and the strong moonlight had bleached away the years leaving Brent's features open and vulnerable.

A gentle sigh filled the room as the sleep-softened lips parted, the pale lashes flickering as the sleeper awoke. Brent stared up at him without fear, and without confusion, as a welcoming smile lifted the corners of his tempting mouth. The sheet swept aside in invitation, and seemed to billow in slow motion high above them as Martin crawled naked onto the bed, before it slowly floated down upon their entwined bodies.

Brent's gentle hands smoothed down his back in long, languid strokes, igniting every nerve ending they passed over, and sending delicious sensations racing through him. He pressed harder against Brent's heated flesh, chest to chest, groin to groin, hips rolling sinuously, pelvis thrusting slowly as promises of ecstasy radiated its desire, turning his blood to liquid fire.

He had awoke with a gasp of pleasure as his semen spilled onto the crumpled bed sheet beneath him, trembling at the power of his release.

How long had it been since he'd had a wet dream? Years, perhaps? Though all he had ever recalled from those past dreams were nebulous figures who could have been man, woman or succubus for all he knew. This was the first time the lover in his erotic dreams had been given substance, and Martin could not deny that this lover had been Brent Marken. He had seen Brent so clearly; every line of bone, every curve of muscle... even the heavy scarring across his left shoulder and arm... and his eyes, a clear green corona around dark pools of desire.

Also, he could not deny that he had sensed no inner abhorrence, instead he had welcomed the feel of Brent's body pressed up against his own. The pleasure of their coupling had been far greater than he had experienced in reality, though he had far too few experiences to draw upon compared to his university friends.

Though his erotic dream would have heightened awareness, Martin knew deep down inside that most of his pleasure had come from the sense of freedom and joy he had felt at taking *this* man in his arms.

He wondered if his previous dream lovers had also been men, with their forms hidden by his unconscious denial of his needs. Some how, Brent Marken had broken through that denial, opening his subconscious to new possibilities, and in turn, revealed those hidden desires to him. But why Brent?

The words of an old song came back to haunt him...

Am I really hard to please? Perhaps I have such special needs I wondered what was wrong with me My friends all fall so easily But today I fell in love with someone I hardly know And I let myself imagine that he could love me so...

He had felt that way for most of his adult life, unable to find anyone he *wanted* to love even though his friends were always mooning over one girl or another. He had put it down to a number of things -- studying, family issues, then work -- but now he wondered if he had been looking in the wrong direction for what he wanted. Certainly, he felt different today, as if his eyes had been opened and suddenly he had walked into sunshine after spending years in the shadows.

He had one more certainty -- that he wanted to see Brent. He wanted to know if his feelings for Brent, as revealed in his dream, were the truth or whether his dream lover could have been *any* man. Yet, even as he questioned these feelings he knew that what he felt was real. He could feel it in the tingling of his fingertips from remembered touches, and in the way his heart skipped at beat at the mere thought of Brent Marken.

Martin dressed quickly, pulling on pants and shirt and then discarding the shirt for a T-shirt when his hands refused to steady long enough to do up his tie.

Halfway through the Lincoln Tunnel, the last line of that song struck him again. Even though he knew Brent had a preference for his own gender, by his own admission, Martin had no reason to believe that Brent could want him. He could have imagined the softening in Brent's eyes and the welcoming smile... or maybe he had merely confused proffered friendship for hidden desire.

As his thoughts fell into despondency his other, darker dreams from the night returned. Every one of them held scenes of death but Martin recalled reading that it was a premonition of change rather than physical death. Certainly, he felt as if his life had been turned upside down by this night's revelation.

By the time he reached the hospital, he felt afraid and foolish but as he stepped into Brent's room, he saw clear, green eyes turn to him and soften with warmth and welcome. Perhaps Brent's desire was not a figment of his imagination after all.

-ooOOoo-

When the door opened softly Brent turned his head expecting it to be the nurse again but he smiled with pleasure as he saw Martin Fitzgerald hovering on the threshold. Then he recalled why Martin would be here.

Jody was missing, and though he knew who had taken her, he could do nothing about it. All he could do was watch his own back for as long as he lived he posed a threat to them so they would keep Jody alive to ensure his continued silence. However, he knew they did not intend to keep her alive forever and, even now, they had to be watching and waiting for an opportunity to silence him permanently.

Despite reassurance from A.D. McGraw, who had visited him yesterday, Brent knew that he was more vulnerable to attack now that the doctor had moved him out of ICU. In ICU there were surveillance cameras placed inside rooms as well as in the corridors but here the cameras monitored just the corridors. Also, in ICU he had been hooked up to several monitors but the nurse had removed even the cannula this morning, saying that he no longer required a drip and could finish the course of antibiotics orally.

If it had not been for his shoulder wounds requiring closer attention for the next few days, Brent might even have been discharged. Instead, the doctor wanted to ensure he had no further relapse through lack of medical attention for the healing wounds.

"See they've removed the drip."

Martin sat down on the seat beside him and reached out, touching his hand, and Brent felt a pulse of desire surge through him. The embarrassed part of him wanted to snatch back his hand, afraid that Martin would see the longing in him and be appalled. Yet another part wanted to bask in that touch, having spent too many long years sleeping alone, unwilling to break the vow he had made to Marge even though she had taken more than a few lovers over those years of estrangement.

He thought back through the years to the months following Loralee's accusation. Despite the charges being dropped, nothing had been the same after that. His so-called best friends had moved away without a word, and others avoided him, whispering behind their hands that he was one of those boys that liked boys.

Most people believed he had turned down his football scholarship but, instead, it had been withdrawn after those whispers reached the ears of the wrong people. He had no option but to take the work his father offered in the family business but he had hated every minute of it. Building patios and digging out the foundations for house extensions had not been the way he had envisaged his life.

What he had hated more was the way other workers treated him, even men he had known for years through his father. He could see the wariness in their eyes whenever he used the washroom at the same time, the way they turned their backs as if they thought he'd be checking them out the same way they wolf-whistled the girls who passed the site.

Everything had been so confusing though, with his father openly stating that he wished he *had* raped Loralee as then they'd all know he was a 'real' man. The atmosphere at home had become almost unbearable, and he had never been so despairing and desperate for an answer to his predicament... and then Marge had offered him a way out.

Attitudes towards him changed the moment he placed a ring on Marge's finger. He was welcomed back in the fraternity of straight society as if there had never been even a shadow of doubt about him. Their parents had helped then set up in a home of their own and so life went on for another few months.

However, the cracks in their marriage had shown almost immediately, though they plastered on the smiles, determined to make the best of the situation. The truth was, he felt no stirring of desire for the woman who shared his bed. When she tried to seduce him on the night when they had been accused of raping Loralee, he had assumed his lack of response had been due to the effects of alcohol but now he knew the truth. He felt nothing for her sexually... or for any woman... but he made the effort to please her in bed, wanting to at least give her the child she craved.

Eventually she fell pregnant, and he found more and more excuses to avoid sex until they no longer even shared the same bed. Within a year of Jody's birth, she started to turn to other men for sexual comfort and companionship, and though he knew all about these men, he said nothing. Filled with guilt, he felt that he owed her this, that she had a right to seek solace outside of their marriage if he could not provide it. However, he could not offer himself the same solace. He had made a vow to keep only unto her for as long as they both should live... and he had kept that promise.

It had been an easy promise to keep, especially after he left the building site and took up a deputy position within local enforcement. He found that he enjoyed the work, and took pleasure assisting people with problems and dealing with the scum who wanted to hurt others. He found it strangely cathartic protecting others, as if each person he helped bleached a little more of the stain from his own soul.

Now he was unsure of everything. Marge had asked him to leave --their sham of a marriage finally drawing to an end -- but what about the vow he had made? He had made that promise to death do us part, though he supposed that vow would be annulled along with his marriage.

For the first time in all those long years, Brent felt a stirring of hope within him... and desire too. For the first time he wondered what it would be like to make love with someone whose lightest touch was enough to set his stomach fluttering and his blood surging through his veins.

But why this man? Why Martin Fitzgerald? What was it about Martin that sang to his blood and his heart? Could it be merely gratitude to the man who had saved his life by convincing Paulie to bring him to the hospital? And then he recalled that, despite his fever, he had been mesmerized by this man from the first time he looked into the most beautiful, clear blue eyes that he had ever seen.

Those eyes were staring deep into his soul right now, reading him like an open book, but Brent saw no disgust darken them. Instead, he saw desire returned in full measure. Martin leaned over, his soft lips brushing over his tentatively before he pulled back, with both of them breathing hard as if they had raced a marathon rather than share a first gentle kiss.

"I shouldn't have--"

Brent pressed his fingers against Martin's lips, knowing what he was going to say. They were both law enforcement, so they both understood the need to retain a formal relationship while Brent was part of Martin's work.

"When this is all over..." Brent let the words trail off, knowing Martin would not need to hear the rest spoken aloud, and saw the answering smile. When this was all over, when they were no longer obligated by duty, then they would explore this new facet to their relationship. Until then, they had to concentrate on Jody to ensure her safe return.

The slightest thump came from the corridor beyond, only heard because Martin had left the door ajar, and they both turned at the sound with puzzled expressions.

Martin left Brent's side and, cautiously, looked along the corridor, expecting to see a nurse retrieving fallen items but, instead, he noticed the empty chair where the guard had sat. It was possible that the Police officer had slipped away to get a coffee or go to the men's washroom, taking advantage of the early morning visit from an FBI agent. However, Martin's sixth sense kicked into high gear, mirroring his own, and he turned back to Brent.

"Got a bad feeling about this. Can you walk?"

Brent nodded and pushed back the covers. Martin spared a glance as Brent rose to unsteady feet, mostly keeping surveillance on the corridor beyond as he waited for Brent to take those few steps towards him, but it became obvious that Brent would need support. Martin frowned, slipping off his jacket and pulling it over Brent's right arm but leaving it draped over the injured left shoulder. He drew his gun and took off the safety, and then pulled Brent's right arm over his shoulder, wrapping his own arm around the lean waist. Together, they stumbled to the door, pausing only for the time it took for Martin to verify that the coast was clear, and then they slipped out, making best speed towards the elevator.

Luck remained on their side as the elevator came almost immediately, and Martin swore as a man came running towards the slowly closing doors, stabbing at the buttons in desperation. He pressed for the ground floor, hoping that they would reach it before the hitman but it stopped on the second. As the door opened, Martin held the gun ready, his heart beating frantically in his chest as he wondered if this would be friend or foe. He breathed a sigh of relief when two nurses entered, valiantly ignoring their perplexed expressions as they eyed both him and Brent.

The elevator stopped again, and Martin began to silently curse their change of luck, knowing that the delay would have given the hitman time to reach them... but the elevator wall slid open behind him rather than in front as expected.

With shocked relief, Martin realized the nurses had access to Surgery on the mezzanine level and he waited until they had forgotten him and Brent before he followed them out.

"There."

Martin looked to where Brent indicated and saw a door leading to a little used stairwell. He had to take more of Brent's weight as they descended to the ground floor, and then Martin cracked open the door a fraction. He was surprised to see that they were at the back of the hospital near the parking bays reserved for Police and other government officials. Breathing heavily from the exertion, Martin forced them to move swiftly through the exit and car park, wanting to cover the open ground as quickly as possible.

His head snapped around at the sound of metal hitting metal, and he cursed loudly as he saw the hitman taking aim at them again. He scrabbled for his keys and unlocked the car, almost bodily throwing Brent into the back seat, trying hard to ignore the soft cry of pain as they were both dead if he did not get them out of there right now.

The car started first time, and Martin silently gave thanks to his father for doing one thing right by forcing him to accept this new car for his last birthday. His old one had kept failing on him at inopportune moments but he hadn't had the money to get it fixed.

Within moments he was out of the parking lot and heading towards the New Jersey Turnpike, knowing the hitman had not been in a position to follow them.  
Back to index  
Part 3 by Tarlan  
Same Time  
14 Hours Missing:

The town of Cherry Falls had taken its name from where the wide meandering river dropped several feet on its journey to the Atlantic. In late spring, the overhanging Cherry trees would drop their blossoms into the river where they would gently flow away, often catching on the small water-worn rocks to form a light blanket of pink blossoms over the fall.

The small tourist brochure assured Jack that it was just only one of the many beautiful sights that New England had to offer. He had picked up the brochure while he and Danny were waiting for their flight to be called, welcoming the slight distraction after what seemed like weeks without a single break.

"Angie McCormack's funeral is tomorrow."

Jack gave a noncommittal sound. How many cases ended with a funeral? Jack turned his thoughts away from such questions, knowing they served only to torment him with the ones who slipped away; the ones they never found -- or never found alive.

When they pulled up outside the Marken residence, Jack leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was tired. Too many cases in close succession had left him with little time to sleep.

"Jack?"

Jack could hear the concern in Danny's voice and he offered a small, reassuring smile. He thought about why he had brought Danny along this time rather than Sam. On the last time they interviewed Marge Marken, she seemed a little hostile, and it had taken Jack a while to realize that most of the hostility had been aimed at Sam. The problem was that Sam was young, intelligent and beautiful with a good figure and blonde hair. All the attributes that the Media insisted were the most important, and here was this Media dream woman turning up at the home of a woman discontent with her life.

All the small details he had picked up about the Marken's formed a profile of a woman who had manipulated a boy into marriage by playing on his confused sexuality. Like so many others, she had thought he could change... that she would be the one to change him. She had locked him into marriage, keeping only unto her until death they do part, only to realize that she had trapped herself too.

Jack thought about the long years both had endured in this loveless marriage with Brent Marken caught by the vows he had made on their wedding day, and Marge by her standing in the small community. People like the Markens did not get divorced except under the most exceptional circumstances. They carried on with the sham of their lives unto the bitter end and died filled with regrets.

Leonard Marliston had provided that exceptional circumstance, and then the accusations of his mother had brought down Marken's standing in the community, albeit temporarily. However, Marge would have glimpsed her freedom from their stagnant marriage, perhaps seeing a chance to start over with a new life and love.

He thought back to her recollection of the last day she saw her husband, and how she had made up her mind to pack his bags and send him away only half an hour before picking Marken up from the hospital.

No one knew that Marken would insist of leaving the hospital against the doctors' advice so his wife had probably been telling the truth when she said all the arrangements were finalized with Virginia Allen only a half an hour earlier. However, it was not the sudden decision that Marge had implied for when he had questioned Virginia Allen, she let slip that she and Marge had talked about the end of her brother's marriage, and arranging for him to recuperate in New York, several days prior to that.

Once more it came down to one of those truths that had to be questioned very carefully because it had been concealing lies.

"You ready?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah."

Together they made their way to the door and waited for Marge Marken to answer it. Her eyes held the same wariness as before though, this time they were also marred by shadows of sleeplessness. She led them to the same room as before but, this time, she seemed a little more attentive to their needs. Jack gave a secretive smile as Marge made far more effort to welcome them this time, knowing he had profiled her right in his mind.

"When did you realize your daughter was missing?"

She took a deep drag on her cigarette, exhaling slowly. "I started getting concerned when she didn't come straight home."

Danny frowned. "Her flight took off at 6:30. Even with a fast checkout at the airport, she wouldn't have reached home until at least 8:30 p.m."

Instead of confusion, Jack read fear in Marge Marken's eyes. Police records showed that she had started making inquiries after her daughter at 8:15 p.m. Quickly, she covered for her momentary panic by saying Jody had promised to call as soon as she left the plane, but Jack had already filed away her immediate reaction for it spoke volumes to him. It told him that Marge Marken had known about her daughter's abduction before 8:15 p.m.

But had she known of the abduction *before* it took place, or had the kidnappers contacted her soon after?

In either case, it would have been in the best interest of the kidnappers if no one knew Jody was missing, so what had prompted Marge to start making those inquiries?

Of course, he could be mistaken. Perhaps she had been telling the truth. Maybe Jody *had* promised to call, and her mother had waited for as long as she could stand before making inquiries. Marge would not be the first mother to worry ahead of time as he recalled his wife fretting whenever one of their kids was delayed without any notice, seeing the worst in every situation.

Once more their interview had come to an end and, despite Danny's presence, Jack felt they had not gained much more than a little supposition. He thought about his other reason for coming to Cherry Falls, wanting to look at the lake where they found Loralee Marliston's body. It was supposed to be a beautiful and yet remote spot several miles south of the town, and he decided that he ought to avail himself of the facilities being they made that journey.

"Would you mind if I used your washroom?"

"No... go ahead. Second door along on the left."

She waived him in the general direction of the downstairs washroom, and the put him out of her mind as she focused back on Danny with a coy smile. Jack raised an eyebrow at Danny, knowing he would understand the other reason for Jack leaving the room. He was giving Danny time to try and charm a little more information out of her so he took his time locating the washroom.

As he relieved himself, he glanced around the surprisingly spacious room but something caught his eye, and after zipping up his pants, he bent to take a look at the small stain just under the edge of the washbasin. It looked like a droplet of dried blood. Carefully, he checked for more and found several more droplets splattered about the room. Taking hold of a wad of bathroom tissue, Jack opened the small cabinet above the sink and saw an opened bottle of permanent hair colorant.

On their own, these things were explainable as it was obvious that Marge Marken dyed her short hair to cover the encroaching grey. However, the bottle had a single strand of hair plastered to it... and it was very long and dark.

-ooOOoo-

15 Hours Missing: New York

Martin drove around for almost an hour before he was convinced that no one had tailed them from the hospital. He pulled over into the parking lot of a McDonalds and found a space that would conceal the car from the road, just as an extra precaution.

Brent sat up straighter in the back seat, and Martin noticed that his face was still pale and pinched with pain. In the rear view mirror, Martin saw him look towards the fast food place then back at Martin's reflected eyes.

"Hungry?"

"No. Don't think I could eat even if I was." Brent gave a ragged sigh. "I didn't think they'd try for me at the hospital."

"Despite the guard, I don't think McGraw did either."

Martin pulled out his cellphone and tapped in a number. He needed to get Brent to a safe house and as Jack was out of town, that left calling A.D. McGraw for help. McGraw's secretary picked up the call but Martin insisted on speaking only with the A.D. He waited nervously as his call was transferred, giving a gentle sigh of relief as he heard the familiar voice pick up.

"A.D McGraw, it's Agent Martin Fitzgerald."

"Fitzgerald! Where the hell are you? We have an 'officer down' at the hospital and no sign of Marken--"

"I've got Brent Marken... and I need a safe house. It was a hit, Sir."

There was a moment's silence as McGraw took in the information and then he reeled off an address and directions. "You got that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then proceed there directly and--"

"Sir, Marken will need his medication."

"Arrangements will be made."

"Yes, Sir."

The line went dead as the A.D. hung up, and Martin caught Brent's eyes in the mirror once more.

"You trust him?"

"Haven't got much choice."

"So you don't trust him."

Martin grinned and looked over his shoulder. "I don't know him... but Jack trusts him, and I trust Jack."

Brent nodded. "Okay."

"You okay in the back or do you want to ride up front?"

Brent's answer was to slide across the seat and get out the car. Martin leaned over and opened the passenger door, smiling softly as Brent settled into the seat next to him. He started the engine and glided back out onto the highway, heading towards Clifton where the A.D. had given him details of a safe house used by the FBI. Martin knew it would take at least forty minutes to reach Clifton but it felt good to be heading *some*where rather than *any*where.

His thoughts went back to Paul Sisler. He had put Sisler's claim that someone was out to silence Brent mostly down to paranoia until learning the fate of Loralee Marliston, and then her husband Greg. Having more than one prime suspect made the case harder, especially as all of those suspects had a 'hands off' label slapped on them because of who they were. His own father, in the capacity of Deputy Director of the FBI, had already intervened once to prevent them talking to Senator McKay and his brother. No one else had permission to approach either the McKay's or Adnam-White unless they had a damn good reason and had cleared it through the Deputy Director for fear the Press might pick up the scent and bring a scandal upon those two powerful families. Martin had no doubt that these men would bring multi-million dollar lawsuits against the Bureau should that happen.

He thought about the promise he had made to Sisler; not truly appreciating how important that promise would be to him until the moment Brent came into danger at the hospital. However, he had more than Brent's physical well being to protect. There was his mental state too, and Martin knew Brent was filled with fear for his daughter.

Silently, he hoped Jack was having some luck with Marge Marken this time around, though part of him hoped that Jack was wrong -- for Brent's sake. After all, if these men were rich enough to buy someone to kill Brent at the hospital then they were rich enough to hire a Greg Marliston look-a-like to fool Marge Marken at the airport.

"I've been shot at a few times during my years in law enforcement. Mostly some perp passing through, and looking to rob the liquor store on Main Street, or the gas station out by the old water mill."

Martin glanced sideways as the softly spoken words reached him, gaining an impression of Brent leaning against the door, turned towards him in his seat. He waited, knowing the words were an opening to the deep thoughts that were bringing such mental anguish to Brent.

"They didn't know who I was. Didn't care either. I was just a man in a uniform out to stop them."

He fell silent again for a moment but Martin understood what was troubling Brent even before he continued on in a whisper, but he could think of no words to offer in solace.

"Just never been personal before."

-ooOOoo-

Brent stared out through the windscreen, almost mesmerized by the road flashing beneath them as Martin drove steadily towards Clifton. Less than a month ago, he had been going about his every day duty in the small, quiet town of Cherry Falls; living his small town life from one bleak day to the next, immersing himself in work as a substitute for his marriage.

The only ray of light had been his beautiful daughter, and she had been the only reason he went home each night. He had loved her from the moment the nurse placed her tiny, squawling form into his arms; his knees weakening until he collapsed into the seat behind him. Her cries has stopped as he rocked her, and he had sat for almost two hours, motionless like a statue, watching her take each new breath until she awoke crying for her mother's milk.

Years flashed by in his mind, filled with small remembrances: reading bedtime stories, playing in the back yard, her first day at school, her first boyfriend.

They had always been close as Marge had drifted away, hating motherhood from the first and quickly giving up on breast-feeding. He had been the one to go to Jody in the middle of the night when she cried for milk, or when she had bad dreams. He had been the one to take her to school each day and pick her up each afternoon as her mother had insisted on returning to work and could not spare the time. Being the Sheriff had made it easier for him to do as he could set his own times, or send one of his deputies to pick up Jody if he was going to be delayed for any reason.

He knew Marge loved Jody too but her disappointment with life, and with him, had driven her to seek solace outside of their small family.

"After Marliston started killing the kids in town, I tried to teach Jody a few self-defense moves. Like how to disarm a knife-wielding perp."

He laughed derisively, recalling how they'd ended up in a tangle of limbs of the front room floor. The lesson had been cut short by the ringing of the telephone, heralding the loss of another young life to the Virgin Killer. It had been enough though in the end as Jody recalled using the throw he had shown her to send Marliston plummeting onto the railings below the window.

"She doesn't deserve this... not after Marliston. It's not right. I'm the one to blame. I'm the one they want."

"And you know she's dead the moment they get you." Brent caught the flick of concern Martin sent his way. "You have to keep safe, Brent. And if you've any idea where she is or who has her then you've got to tell... then let Jack and the team do their jobs."

Brent shook his head. "I don't know who has her, and I don't know where. Marge wouldn't say who'd contacted her when she passed the message on."

They fell back into silence, knowing they had so much to say to each other but aware that those words had to remain unsaid until they could put the present trauma behind them. Martin slowed as they approached a nondescript house among many on the outskirts of Clifton, and pulled up onto the drive. The front door opened and two plains-clothed people came out and pulled open the passenger door, assisting Brent from the car and taking him inside.

"Agent Fitzgerald, Jack Malone wants you to contact him right away."

Martin nodded and looked to Brent almost as if he was asking his permission to step away from his side. Brent nodded and started to sink onto the couch but one of the agents took hold of his good arm.

"You'll be more comfortable in the bedroom. I'm a doctor and I need to check your injuries."

Brent let out a deep breath and nodded once more, allowing the doctor to assist him to the bedroom. Martin came back in just as the doctor helped Brent to remove his hospital gown, and Brent felt strangely shy even though he knew Martin had seen all the damage to his chest and arm.

"Agent Fitzgerald, would you mind supporting Sheriff Marken while I check and dress these."

Martin sat down behind Brent and encouraged him to lean back against him, and Brent could not help the shiver of pleasure that raced through him at Martin's touch. He could feel the agile fingers at his waist; could feel the soft cotton of the T-shirt pressing against his naked back, and he could feel the rise and fall of the strong chest as Martin breathed perhaps a little too shallow and quickly.

It did not take long before his injuries were covered and bound once more, and Brent breathed a sigh of relief when the doctor stopped poking and prodding at the sore wounds. He watched as the doctor loaded a hypodermic; wincing as the needle slid into the vein.

"Just a painkiller and a mild sedative combined. Should help you rest more comfortably."

The doctor's eyes flickered up to the man still braced behind him, and Brent felt Martin shift position, slowly lowering him until he was lying almost flat on the bed. His eyelids grew heavy but Brent kept his focus on Martin for as long as he could, wanting to take the sight of those warm blue eyes into his dreams in the hope that they would keep the nightmares at bay.

-ooOOoo-

15 Hours Missing Cherry Falls

Jack watched as the first of the Crime Scene Investigation team set foot inside the spacious bathroom. The woman set to work immediately, intending to comb every square inch of floor and check every item in the room. She placed the hair colorant bottle, with its dark strand of hair still attached, into a plastic bag and sealed it. He knew that more than an hour later she would still be following a set routine to gather as much evidence from the possible crime scene as possible.

Jack turned his attention to the white-faced Marge Marken, seeing the fear written so plainly across her features as she was asked to accompany FBI agents to the Sheriff's office. Special Agent Harris -- McGraw's agent in charge of the Loralee Marliston murder investigation -- beckoned Jack to join him.

"Want to sit in on the questioning?"

Jack nodded, barely mumbling his agreement, hoping Marge Marken would be more forthcoming about her daughter's disappearance now that she had become a prime suspect in the murder of Loralee Marliston. He motioned for Danny to stay at the Marken's residence, wanting to know if the CSI uncovered anything more. He left the rental for Danny and climbed into Harris's car, lost in thought as they tailed the car carrying Marge Marken.

Upon discovering that strand of hair in the bathroom, Jack had pulled out his cellphone and set the wheels in motion, agreeing to keep Marge Marken occupied until Harris's people could get there. No one wanted to risk Marge figuring out something was up and taking flight before they could investigate fully.

Once at the Sheriff's Office, the FBI agents commandeered an interview room, and Jack sank into the seat beside Harris and across the table from Marge Marken. They went through all the normal procedures to ensure Marge Marken knew her rights, not wanting to lose anything over a legal technicality, and Jack sat back as Harris started in on the questioning.

"Did you know Loralee Marliston?"

"Not really... I mean... she was at the same school but she kept herself to herself." Marge reached for the packet of cigarettes placed in front of her. "You mind?"

"No... go ahead."

Jack could see that her hands were trembling as she took a cigarette and lit it, drawing the first breath deeply into her lungs then letting it out slowly.

"Has Loralee Marliston ever been in your home?"

"No... not to my knowledge." Her eyes slid to the left, a familiar sign that she was lying, and so the questioning went on with Harris proving a highly skilled interrogator as he cross-questioned Marge, allowing her to tangle herself within her own web of lies of half-truths.

Jack's cellphone rang and he excused himself, moving outside of the room before answering and even then, still speaking in a soft, low voice.

"Jack... they just tested for blood... sprayed everywhere then turned out the lights."

"And?"

"Bathroom lit up like my childhood bedroom. Blood splatter everywhere."

Jack recalled Danny mentioning that he'd had a love for things that glowed in the dark as a kid... and he knew the chemical the CSI team would have sprayed would have reacted in a similar way if it found any trace of blood. But was it human or animal blood? And if human, was it Loralee's?

"Fits with the head trauma that killed Loralee Marliston," Danny added, and Jack recalled the Coroner's report that death had been caused by blunt force trauma to the back of the skull. "They found a possible murder weapon... a small rock that had been smoothed and had a design painted onto it."

"Okay. Keep me informed if anything else turns up."

Jack watched as one of Harris's men slipped into the room with a sheet of paper, knowing that it would contain the same information that Danny just related to him. He followed the agent into the interview room and quietly retook his seat, watching carefully as Harris confronted her with the new evidence.

-ooOOoo-

16 Hours Missing New York

Sam handed a sheet of paper to Vivian. "What do you make of this?"

One of McGraw's agents assigned to the Greg Marliston murder case came over to see what Samantha had discovered, and he looked over Vivian's shoulder and frowned. The diminutive woman glanced upwards, giving him a pointed stare that said 'back off', and saw the flush of embarrassment rise in the man's cheeks. He stepped to one side and tapped the name on the computer printout that had grabbed Sam's attention.

"Same stewardess that was on the Marken flight... though it's not unusual for them to take different assignments rather than stick to the same air route."

Vivian shook her head, seeing far more than the other agent. "No. Not unusual, but a coincidence that she just happened to be the *only* one who'd had a clear visual of the man sitting in Marliston's seat on that flight... and the *only* one who could adamantly swear that he was *not* Greg Marliston. The other two followed her lead."

"Marliston was a last minute booking, taking his pick of seats on a fairly empty flight," noted Sam. "No one sat close to him, and they flew with minimum staff. So no one questioned her word at the time, taking it as the truth from a third party with no connection to Marken or Marliston." Sam frowned. "But here she is again."

"Could still just be a coincidence," Agent Danzig added.

"But what if it isn't?" Vivian stared hard at both agents, waiting for their response, which Danzig gave.

"We pull her records... check out who she is, who she knows..."

"How tall she is," added Sam with a slight smile, which Vivian picked up on right away and added sardonically, "And if she has a long dark wig with a streak of white in it."

Vivian's cellphone trilled so she pulled it from her purse. "Martin? I thought you were taking an easy day?"

Her soft smile faded, her dark eyes seeking Sam's. "Okay. How long ago was this? Stay there for now... but keep me apprised of the situation. I'll let Jack know what's happened." New thoughts struck her as she listened to Martin confirm her 'orders'. She called his name urgently before he could break the call. "When he wakes up, ask Marken if he recalls anything unusual about any of the flight attendants." She gave a slight smile. "No. It might be nothing... just ask him though."

She ended the call and replaced the phone in her purse, her mouth a tight line as she looked into two inquisitive faces.

"Someone tried a hit on Brent Marken at the hospital. Martin was there at the time. He got him out and to a safe house." She turned to Danzig. "Can you get a photo of Sarah Jacobson over to the safe house? It might jog Marken's memory."

"And in the meantime, we start digging for information on Sarah Jacobson."

-ooOOoo-

20 Hours Missing New York

Jack stepped off the plane at JFK with more questions than he had answers to. The questioning of Marge Marken had not gone well as she had clammed right up, refusing to talk until she could have a lawyer present. Jack was not sure what to make of that but he knew they could not charge her with anything until all the Forensic evidence had been taken. After all, she was not the only person living in that house at the time of Loralee Marliston's murder, and her fingerprints had every right to be plastered all over the house and bathroom.

Jack considered the other possible suspect: Jody Marken.

From the talks with Marge Marken it was obvious that Jody was very close to her father. Loralee's son had tried to kill him, and had almost succeeded, and here was Loralee in the Marken residence. Could that alone have been enough motive for Jody to murder Loralee?

Unfortunately, until they had substantial evidence from the murder scene that implicated the killer, both mother and daughter would remain at the top of the list of suspects. He raised a small smile for Vivian and she fell in step beside him as they moved through the concourse with Danny just a few steps behind.

"Have you brought in Sarah Jacobson yet?"

"She's on a flight due to arrive at Newark in just under the hour. McGraw's made arrangements for his men to pick her up as soon as the plane lands."

"Find anything else that could link her to Marken or Marliston?"

"No... though I have to admit I could use Martin's searching skills right now. Boy has a knack for knowing what to look for on a computer."

Jack smiled. "If the man can't get to a computer then maybe we can get a computer to the man."

They reached the car and Jack placed his overnight bag into the trunk alongside Danny's. He slid into the passenger seat while Danny climbed into the back, leaving Vivian to drive. The combination of murder and abduction cases had taken its toll and he sighed, knowing they had still to make any concrete connection between the McKays and... or... Adnam-White.

Vivian answered his next question before it could shape itself into words.

"Martin's still waiting for Marken to wake up. Seems the doctor gave him a light sedative. Danzig had a picture of Sarah Jacobson sent over at my request, to help jog his memory." She drove on in silence for a moment. "Oh... and McGraw says that theory of yours panned out. French Forensics managed to get on board the plane at the Paris stopover and found enough DNA and fiber evidence behind the landing gear to know some *body* had been there."

"When will we know for certain if it was Greg Marliston?"

"They're pushing it through the lab as quickly as they can... though fibers found on the plane match the clothing on Marliston's body so DNA testing is just a formality."

"Next question has to be 'how did he get there?'"

"Coroner's report says the blow to his skull wasn't enough to kill him. He froze to death."

Jack grimaced at the thought of Greg Marliston awakening in an icy tomb, his thumps and pleas for help going unheard. One of his first missing person cases had involved a child who was later discovered frozen inside a meat locker at his father's factory. Jack still had images of the child curled up on the floor with evidence of his attempt to attract help strewn about his frozen corpse. Thinking of the child's frantic calls for help going unanswered had fueled many of his nightmares in those early days.

Vivian smiled ruefully, as if aware of this traumatic case from the past. "Only good news is, judging by the lack of any evidence of movement, he never regained consciousness."

Jack sighed partially in relief, knowing Greg Marliston had not suffered beyond the blow that sent him into unconsciousness. He stared out the window as they moved through the afternoon traffic, only half-listening as Danny related all they had discovered in Cherry Falls.

They had no new leads in the search for Jody Marken, only more questions, including the possibility that she had not been abducted at all. Jack was aware that she could have staged the whole thing after realizing that the Police had identified the body of Loralee Marliston... though Jody had appeared genuinely horrified at learning of Loralee's death.

"You all right, Jack?"

"Tired."

"Headache?" He mumbled his answer. "Well, it's about to get worse." Jack stared at her profile, waiting for the bad news. "Deputy Director Fitzgerald just learned Martin was involved in getting Marken to safety. Seems he's not concentrating on the 'hero' angle... but more on the 'why did you have my son on active duty in the line of fire?' angle."

Jack let his head drop back against the head support, closing his eyes to block out the sight surrounding them. Danny's voice floated from the back seat.

"He out for blood?"

"Sharpening his rapier mind as we speak."

"Damn," cursed Jack softly.

Her voice was low and earnest as she responded to his curse. "He's worth it, Jack."

Jack did not need to ask who she was referring to, but knowing she was right. Martin had slotted into the team perfectly from the very beginning -- although Jack recalled having to rein him in after he stepped outside of protocol on that first case and almost got himself killed. The team had been lacking in the computer skills' area with a succession of agents failing to meet Jack's high standards, until Martin joined them. He had quickly proven his worth when he managed to locate a pedophile working from a server in Texas, intercepting instant messages that led them to the missing boy before he became a victim.

"He's going to report in as soon as he's spoken with Marken."

Jack nodded, and the rest of the journey passed quickly as they dissected the case anew.

-ooOOoo-

Martin glanced at the clock on the wall and double-checked the time against his wristwatch, surprised to note that four hours had passed while Brent slept. He had managed to grab a couple of hours sleep too though the rest had not left him feeling any better. His head ached and he could feel the tension crackling in his too-taut muscles. He tried to ease his neck pain by rolling his head from side to side, but to no avail, and the movement only served to set his head throbbing all the more.

"Here... take these. Doctor left them for you... said you might need them when you woke up."

Martin accepted the two painkiller tablets and a tumbler of water.

"How's Brent... Marken?"

"Still sleeping, but starting to get a little restless so I figure he might wake up any time now."

Martin nodded and moaned softly as he rose to unsteady feet, realizing that the escape from the hospital had probably used up the last of his reserves leaving him feeling weak. He stumbled towards the bedroom and checked in on the sleeping man, finding a smile rise to his lips despite his aches and pains.

The mid-afternoon sunshine had found its way through the cracks in the blinds, striping across the pale flesh of shoulder and abdomen of the man lying motionless upon the bed. Golden light glowed off his sun-kissed blond hair, making it shine like bands of gold, and glinted off the tips of the long, pale lashes that fluttered softly as Brent slowly surfaced from his deep sleep.

As Martin watched, the handsome features creased in the pain that would be Brent's constant companion -- though time would mute it to a dull ache as his injuries healed. Martin thought about the raw wounds lying beneath the pristine white bandage, marveling anew at how close Brent had come to dying at Leonard Marliston's hand, and yet he had survived through sheer luck.

Eyes opened, the green almost vanquished by the dilated pupils before the sunlight banished the darkness, shrinking the pupils almost to pinpoints. However, as those eyes focused on him, Martin saw the pupils try to turn the tide of battle, dilating rapidly as a soft smile teased at the corners of Brent's mouth. Martin's heart seemed to skip a beat in knowing he was the cause of Brent's pleasure. However, a huge yawn spoiled the effect... but the lazy grin that followed more than compensated and Martin found he was grinning down at Brent.

Brent's eyes drifted towards the window, and he frowned. "How long have I slept?"

"About four hours."

"Jody?"

Martin sighed as the magic of that waking moment passed and he was reminded of his duty. "Still missing. And I need to ask you some more questions."

Brent started to struggle to sit up, and Martin quickly moved forward to assist, piling the pillows behind as Brent leaned forward. Brent leaned back with a sigh, fatigued by the effort it had taken to complete the small task. Martin pulled the photo from the folder he had placed on the bedside cabinet a few hours earlier. He held it up to Brent and watched as he took in the pretty features with short, brown hair cut into a neat bob.

"She looks familiar."

"Sarah Jacobson. She was the attendant on your flight to New York."

"Yeah... that's where I've seen her before."

"Do you recall anything unusual about her? anything she might have said or done that seemed a little odd?"

"No... I don't think... Though there was just one thing... But I might have been imagining..."

-ooOOoo-

The flight had been half-empty and Brent had been thankful that he had not been squashed into one of the small seats with someone pressed up beside him. As it was, there was a spare seat between him and another passenger -- who sat in the aisle seat -- though Brent wished he had asked for a seat on the other side of the plane. As it was, his damaged left shoulder was perilously close to the fuselage and the turbulence set his shoulder and arm throbbing whenever the plane juddered. He wished he had delayed taking his pain medication so he would have the maximum benefit of it right now and could only be grateful that the flight would be mercilessly short.

When he left the hospital only a few hours earlier, he had not expected to be going anywhere other than his own warm bed. It had been a shock seeing all the angry people gathered around the exit, along with dozens of reporters, and he wondered who had leaked his release from hospital. They surged towards him, trying to push through the small cordon of deputies that protected him from the worse, though several people managed to reach between them to grab at him, sending pain radiating through his body.

By the time he had reached the car, he knew he had to be looking ashen, but he had not let out the breath he'd taken until then, sighing in relief as Marge pulled away, leaving the angry crowd behind. He had closed his eyes for only a moment, expecting to see familiar streets as they headed for home, and was shocked when he realized Marge was heading out of town and onto the highway.

After twenty-four years of marriage it felt strange to know that it was all over, with hardly a word passing between them as Marge drove to the airport for they had nothing left to say to each other. One hour and forty minutes later he sat alone by the departure gate with his ticket clenched in one hand and a small flight bag at his feet; the suitcases Marge had packed already checked in.

Curiosity had made him look inside the small bag, and he gave another wry grin as he recalled the contents. Marge had packed water, a sandwich, a copy of the Cherry Falls newspaper and the novel he had been reading, that had lain by the side of his bed at home untouched since Marliston's attack on him. Other more personal items were also included, adding finality to their parting -- his ID cards, important financial documents and address book.

He had taken two of the painkillers and then dropped the small container into the bag, and now they made a siren's call to him, one that became harder and harder to resist as the plane flew through the stormy skies towards New York. At least the storm had not delayed the flight unduly so the ordeal was almost over.

A melodic sound filled the cabin and Brent looked up as a pleasant voice informed them that they would be landing in fifteen minutes. He let his head sink back, hardly aware of the man in the aisle seat getting up until he sensed a presence hovering above him.

"We'll be landing in New York in ten minutes. Do you need any help with your seat belt?"

The pretty, brown-haired attendant was one of only three cabin staff on this lightly filled flight, and not the same one who had helped him with his seat belt earlier. He felt embarrassment flush his cheeks, not only for his helplessness but also because the seat belt sign had been lit for most of the flight but he had not been able to get comfortable with it fastened.

He mumbled, "please," and tried to raise his arms out of the way to give her room. More embarrassment flooded though him as her hands slid down and under first one cheek, and then the other, in search of the belt ends when he was certain the straps were hanging loose. She seemed to fumble in his lap as she locked the belt, with her hands rubbing over his groin. Her fingers trailed across his inner thigh as she tightened the belt and then moved away with a smile that could almost be described as lascivious.

-ooOOoo-

Brent looked back at Martin. "As I said, I might have just imagined it... but she seemed overly familiar."

"Had you ever seen her before the flight?"

Brent shook his head slowly. "No. I'm pretty good with faces. I'd recall her if I'd seen her before."

"Did you see her in the concourse *after* the flight?"

"I thought I saw her before I went to the washroom. She'd changed out of her uniform into a dark, tight-fitting skirt and low-cut top. She was buying coffee, and sat just a few tables up. I noticed her look across once or twice but then, she probably recognized me from the flight."

"Did she have anything with her?"

Brent thought hard, but he had been so tired, hurting and shocked after Ginny's revelations about that night with Loralee, that he had not been able to concentrate beyond the coffee in his hand. He tried to picture her as she walked to her table with coffee balanced in one hand and...

"She had a purse... about eight by ten inches... and long red nails." Brent's eyes widened in shock, suddenly aware of what had been wrong with the image of the woman in his head. "On the plane... they'd been neat but short... but she'd stuck on these long red nails, just like..."

"Just like?"

"Just like Marliston wore when he dressed up as Loralee."

Images of those long red nailed fingers curled around the handle of the axe came flooding back to him, and he swallowed down the bile that rose into his throat. All that woman had needed was a long dark wig and she would have looked just like Marliston's impression of his mother, Loralee.

-ooOOoo-

22 Hours Missing FBI Headquarters, New York

Jack and Vivian stood inside the observation room and watched as Sarah Jacobson took a seat. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was scared, having been escorted from the returning Hong Kong flight as soon as it landed in Newark. She had already been through the trauma of having the return flight delayed in France for some unknown reason. She still wore her stewardess uniform with the bright logo of the Airline Company emblazoned over one breast.

Jack had seen her employment record. She had joined the airline only a few months back but had spent most of her time on the same domestic flight while she trained. Jack realized that she must have flown that same route more than a hundred times before being given the opportunity to fly to Hong Kong. Having flown it four times over the last week, on two separate trips, he could understand her eagerness to fly to more exotic locations.

McGraw had chosen to conduct this interview personally, flanked by Agent Danzig. He gave the young woman a reassuring smile that was meant to disarm her, and Jack had to smile when she relaxed slightly. He started the tape running for the interview and spoke clearly, stating the date, time and those present.

"Am I in trouble?"

"Have you any reason to believe you might be in trouble?"

Her eyes shifted away nervously but McGraw brought her attention back as he opened the file set in front of him and removed two photographs. One was of Brent Marken and the other of Greg Marliston.

"These photos were shown to you before. I'll ask you again. Do you recall seeing either of these two men on the flight?"

She looked at the one of Brent Marken and nodded, stretching out her hand to point to the photo.

"And this man?"

Her head shake said 'no' but the rest of her body language seemed at odds with this, so McGraw pressed her. "Are you certain? He sat twelve rows back from this man."

"I don't recall seeing--"

"Did you see either of these men *after* the plane landed... perhaps on the concourse?"

"No. I wanted to get away quickly as I was tired so I went straight to the apartment I rent with three other attendants."

"Can anyone verify this?"

"No. They were all working."

"So you didn't get changed and, maybe stop for a coffee at the bar on the concourse?"

Jack saw her eyes widen perceptibly. "No," she stuttered. "I went straight home."

"Then you'd be willing to take a polygraph to that effect?"

Her lips parted in shock and Jack saw her swallow hard. "Do I need a lawyer?"

"Do you think you need a lawyer?" McGraw gave another soft smile and leaned forward on his elbows. "Sarah, I think you know more than you're telling us. I think you went to the coffee bar in JFK and I think you saw Brent Marken there." He paused, letting that sink in. "And I think that you went there deliberately." He let the silence stretch between them. "Did someone ask you to follow Brent Marken?"

She stared at him, unblinking, but her lips were trembling just slightly, though enough to show her fear. She swallowed nervously, opened her mouth to speak, closed it... and then answered in a rush.

"I was just meant to watch him on the flight... make sure he was okay." She laughed nervously. "Wasn't such a hard job. He's cute."

"Who asked you to watch over him?"

She hesitated. "I-I'm not sure. I'd been on that flight for the past month as part of my training. He approached me a few days earlier and said he'd put in a good word for me to get one of the Far East flights if I watched over his friend... and made sure he was comfortable."

"Was he a regular passenger?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The man who approached you. Was he a regular on that flight?"

"No." Jack saw her features close and her eyes shift away, and he knew from the abruptness of her answer that she was not telling the whole truth. Also, he recognized that she was about to clam up but McGraw was equally astute and changed the subject.

"Why did you go to the Coffee Bar? Was that also part of the...request?"

Her cheeks flushed and she looked back at McGraw. "He gave me some clothes. I was just supposed to be seen in them. That's all."

"And a wig?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she nodded. "A Morticia Addams wig."

McGraw smiled at the description. "Did he say why he wanted you to be seen in them?"

"Just for a joke. He said it was a long-standing joke they'd had over The Addams Family. It was supposed to cheer his friend up. That's all." She shook her head almost in disbelief of her own words. "I suppose he thought his friend would need cheering up after the flight. It was pretty turbulent up there, but there wasn't much more I could do to make him comfortable except turn a blind eye to him not keeping his seat belt on even though the sign was lit for the whole flight."

"Brent Marken didn't see you all dressed up though... in the wig... but someone else did." McGraw pushed the photo of Greg Marliston towards her. "This man."

Jack saw both relief and tears fill her eyes. "He was so angry. The creep thought I was his wife or something. Said he'd been trying to find 'me' for weeks. I thought he was going to hit me when he realized I wasn't her."

"And then he stormed off."

She lowered her head, staring at the tabletop dejectedly and she nodded.

"Please speak up, Miss Jacobson."

She looked up at him with tear-filmed eyes. "Yes. He stormed off."

"Why did you say you'd never seen him before?" McGraw asked softly.

"I thought he was going to report me to Airport Security. I thought he might not recognize me if I quickly changed back into my own clothes. I was scared. I've only just got this job and I like it."

"Was this man," he tapped the photo of Greg Marliston, "on the flight?"

Tears were streaming down her face by now as she nodded. McGraw handed her a Kleenex and waited while she dried her cheeks.

"Please answer the question aloud. Did you see this man, Greg Marliston, on the same flight as Brent Marken?"

"Yes."

"And did you see Greg Marliston again *after* he stormed off having seen you dressed up?"

"No. I swear to you, I didn't see either of them again. I got a call asking if I wanted to substitute for another stewardess on the Hong Kong flight that took off later that evening... and I took it." She swallowed. "I just wanted to get as far away as possible."

McGraw nodded, his eyes shifting to the one-way mirror to let Jack know that he was happy with that answer. He looked back at Jacobson.

"Okay. Let's talk about the man who asked you to watch over his friend and pretend to be... Morticia Addams."

Jack saw the girl's nervousness reappear. "I think I need to speak to a lawyer."

McGraw stared hard at her for a moment and then relaxed back in his seat. He knew the rules. Anything she said beyond this point would be inadmissible, reducing their chances of being able to act on any names or details given should warrants become necessary. They would have to wait until a lawyer had been appointed before they could continue with the interview, but Jack felt they had enough information to start piecing together a list of possible suspects.

Whoever had approached her was no complete stranger or she would never have considered his request, and he had to have connections to make good on his promise. Jack determined that this man might not have been a regular on that flight but he must have had some association with it... perhaps another member of the flight crew, or someone in baggage handling or catering? Or even in cargo handling?

Jack turned to Vivian. "Have we a list of cargo carried on that flight?"

"I'm sure Martin pulled a full manifest off the computer when we were searching for Brent Marken."

"I need to see it."

Within fifteen minutes, Jack was seated at his desk running his finger down the page containing all the relevant details for that flight. He paused at one particular entry for five thousand components being transferred to an electronics factory just north of Cherry Falls. A quick flick through the additional papers Vivian had printed from the computer revealed the shipping details of that consignment. He tapped the page hard in triumph and strode out to the team.

Danny was talking on the phone; his intense expression telling Jack that he was not getting the answers he needed. Vivian was scanning through security tapes in the hope of spotting Jody Marken on one of the security cameras scattered about the airport, and Samantha was tracking down Airport employees who might have been around at the time of Jody's disappearance.

So far, the Jody Marken case had been even more frustrating than when her father had been missing for they had no sighting beyond the moment she stepped through the departure gate into the corridor leading towards the airplane. The scheduled flight had been almost empty of passengers but it still flew as it had taken onboard cargo in lieu of baggage. However, it meant that no one had seen Jody between her leaving Officer Hillman and reaching the stewardess welcoming passengers onto the plane.

The white board showed no marks beyond the time when she went missing though several lines crossed the timeline for the preceding twenty-four hours. They had questioned Virginia Wells concerning her niece, and had spoken Brent Marken over his last sighting of his daughter before she headed for the airport.

Marken had seemed positive that she had every intention of returning to Cherry Falls to see her injured boyfriend, Kenny. Her boyfriend had received a serious knife wounding from Leonard Marliston while trying to protect Jody from the psychopathic killer.

Only one question mark hovered over one of those intersecting lines: Paul Sisler. According to Brent Marken, Sisler had been to see Virginia Wells, to let her know that he was 'safe' and to get the pain meds that Marken had left in his flight bag. Jack frowned slightly; wondering what had happened to those tablets, as they had never reached Marken.

Jack could read the frustration on every face but he hoped to change that imminently. They finished whatever task they were doing and came over, taking their customary seats around the conference table. Immediately, Jack found his eyes drawn to the empty seat that Martin usually took, recalling the phone call he had from Deputy Director Fitzgerald an hour earlier. His ears were still burning from the verbal reprimand but Vivian was right. Martin *was* worth it.

Jack pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the new information he had uncovered.

"Our four-times-daily flight has a regular customer. Wright Transportations Limited, shipping electronic components for AW Technology."

"Isn't that the same company caught in the hostile takeover bid from Adnam-White?" Asked Danny.

"The very same." Jack raised both eyebrows.

Sam leaned forward with a glint of eagerness in her eyes. "Anyone want to bet the man who used Sarah Jacobson is connected to it?"

"Not takers here," Danny grinned. "And whoever it is might have had access to the Hong Kong plane too."

"Greg Marliston didn't get up behind the landing gear under his own steam," added Vivian wryly. "And he didn't tie himself in there so he wouldn't fall out during take-off."

"I was wondering about that," said Sam.

Vivian let them know the details obtained from the French Forensics team. "Whoever hid his body up there knew the rope would be severed when the landing gear retracted. So, when the wheels were lowered on approach to Hong Kong, there was nothing stopping his body from obeying the laws of gravity."

"And becoming shark meat," added Danny.

Jack interceded before they were sidetracked any further. "The first set of questions are..." He looked around the table. "Who knew Brent Marken would be on that flight? How did they find out? Why did they want him watched over? Why did they want him to believe he had seen Loralee Marliston at JFK?"

Vivian was the first to speak up. "Marge Marken booked the flight. Virginia Wells met the flight. Sarah Jacobson was tasked with watching over him *on* the flight so all three of them must have known he was going to be on board that flight."

Sam stepped in. "The air company's database would have passenger booking details... but those are supposed to be restricted. Someone with access could have told Sarah Jacobson that he would be on that flight. Or maybe she saw him at the airport before the flight boarded?"

Danny spoke up. "If they knew Loralee Marliston was already dead, then they could have been trying to throw off the scent for her disappearance. Make it seem she was still alive two weeks after her murder."

Jack shook his head. "Possibly... but I think there's more to it than that. And there's also Greg Marliston to consider. We need to bring Brent Marken in on this... and Martin will be the one to help us do that."

-ooOOoo-

Martin ended the call to Jack and returned to the bedroom where he had left Brent resting quietly.

"Any news on Jody?" Brent looked up hopefully as Martin took a seat beside the bed.

"No. But it seems someone asked that stewardess to watch over you and dress up like 'Morticia Addams', to use her own words. Offered to get her posted onto a more interesting flight route in return."

"Morticia Addams?" Brent sighed. "Yeah, I suppose Loralee did look a little like her. Maybe that's why the others thought she was creepy."

"Her husband, Greg Marliston. He *was* on your flight to New York seated twelve rows back from you. Apparently, he saw that stewardess all dressed up like Loralee and thought it was Loralee. Got annoyed when he realized it wasn't her."

"Is that why he was on the flight? Was he following me in some vain hope I'd lead him to Loralee?"

Martin frowned in confusion. "Why would you think that?"

"Just something her son said, about her having all these love letters and poems she'd written to me. He shoved several into my face, and the dates were just a few years back rather than... I thought they were old letters from before the... the rape."

"They were recent?" Martin leaned in closer. "How recent?"

Brent reddened in embarrassment. "My Deputy Sheriff... Mina... She brought one into the hospital that was barely a year old. She thought it weird that Loralee had been holding this torch for me all those years. I thought so too considering what had happened back then."

"You know, this explains why he arrived at the airport all disheveled, and booked a late seat for your flight."

Brent picked up from Martin. "He didn't expect me to discharge myself from the hospital against the doctors' advice... and he didn't expect Marge to drive me straight to the airport from the hospital."

Martin continued. "And he didn't expect Marge to leave you there to wait alone, which is why it was a shock when they came face-to-face."

"I didn't see him on the flight... but then, I wasn't looking to see anyone. I was kind of preoccupied trying to get comfortable in those damn seats so I might not have noticed him walking right past me."

"Your sister saw him on the concourse close to the coffee bar. She thought he was watching you... but she didn't think much about it until after you disappeared." Martin gave a lopsided grin. "It also would explain why Marliston got so angry with the Loralee look-alike. He thought he'd found Loralee, but instead he lost you."

"Doesn't explain why she was dressed up like Loralee."

"Jack and the team have a theory that it might have been partly to cover up for Loralee's murder... having someone witness seeing her at JFK two weeks after her disappearance."

"You know, I had this dream in the hospital. It was night, and I woke up in the ICU. Everything was dark and quiet except for the hums and beeps of the monitors... and that's when I saw her. She was on the other side of the window. She seemed to stare at me for the longest time, and then I blinked and she was gone. I thought it was all a dream, but what if she *had* been there? Watching me sleep."

Martin realized that he had to pass on this information onto both Jack and A.D. McGraw as it made two possible sightings of Loralee Marliston in Cherry Falls perhaps only the day before she was murdered and her body dumped into the lake.

His cellphone rang and Martin answered it, smiling when he recognized Jack's voice. Quickly, he related all that Brent had just told him but he turned a worried glance in Brent's direction as Jack let him know the Forensic results from the Marken bathroom. Martin put the phone back into his jacket pocket and turned to Brent with a grave expression.

"Forensics found blood splatters in your bathroom, and traces of blood on a painted stone. The blood is Loralee's and the stone matches her crushed skull. Loralee Marliston was murdered in your home."

-ooOOoo-

Brent could barely believe what he had just heard and he stared up at Martin as if he expected the man to start laughing at any moment and tell him it was all a hoax. However, Martin's expression held a deadly seriousness mingled with compassion.

"I didn't think this nightmare could get any worse," he whispered hoarsely. He accepted the fingers that entwined with his own, drawing strength from Martin's support. Brent tightened his grasp and used Martin to lever himself into a sitting position. Martin's eyes held confusion but Brent looked deep into the azure blue.

"I can't stay here. I can't just lie here while someone destroys what's left of my life." He let his eyes show all the misery he had bottled inside for years. "I was the cause of all this, and I've got to be the one who ends it."

"You can barely stand let alone go chasing after--"

"Martin, until they fire me I'm still the sheriff of Cherry Falls, and I owe it to the people there to find out who did this... and to find my daughter."

Brent swept aside the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"And what if it turns out to be someone you know who did this? Like your wife, or even Jody?"

Brent blanched at the thought of Marge or Jody being involved in the murder. He looked back at Martin imploringly, never feeling more lost than he did at this moment but knowing he *had* to do something -- anything -- rather than lie here and wait for the rest of his world to crash around him.

"No matter the outcome, I just need to end this," he choked on the words and turned his head aside as tears of pain and remorse burned in his eyes. "GOD! I should have done it twenty five years ago."

A strong arm wrapped around him while Martin's other hand cradled his head against Martin's shoulder.

All Brent could think as the tears fell was that he wasn't supposed to be blubbering like a child. He was a grown man, for chrissakes, but it didn't seem to make any difference. Weeks of pain and trauma had finally breached what remained of his control and he sobbed into Martin's shoulder. So many regrets filled his head, of moments lost and lives ruined because he had been too scared to stand up for Loralee all those years ago -- and to stand up for himself. He had lived these years in quiet desperation, trying to make amends for his failures and trying to make the best of what he had. The only good thing to come of it all had been Jody... and now even she was tainted by his past.

Eventually, he had no more tears left to cry and yet Martin still held him tight, refusing to relinquish his hold until Brent pushed away.

Unable to meet Martin's eyes, Brent stared at the wall beyond. "I'm sorry--"

Warm fingers pressed against his lips, quickly replaced by a hot mouth as Martin pressed his lips to Brent's, and Brent wanted desperately to sink into the pleasure and comfort offered so freely, and to lose himself in Martin's sweetness. Strong fingers of one hand carded through his hair while the flat of Martin's other hand ran the length of his spine, sending licks of fire through his blood.

Brent drew back from the kiss, momentarily caught in the maelstrom of desire swirling in Martin's eyes before he found the strength to pull away altogether. Thoughts tumbled around his head as he wondered how this could be so wrong when it felt so good and so right being in Martin's arms. It gave him renewed strength to face the past, and to face himself.

"I have to put the past behind me... and the only way to do that is to do what I should have done twenty-five years ago."

Martin looked confused. "Loralee?"

Brent shook his head sorrowfully. "I can't do anything for Loralee now... or for her son."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Admit I'm... that I prefer men to women. If I'd accepted the truth back then... then none of this would have happened."

"And what of Loralee's murderer?"

"I--I have to see justice done... no matter the personal cost."

Martin nodded. "Okay."

"Will you help?"

"Yeah. I'll contact Jack and tell him we're coming in."

-ooOOoo-

25 Hours missing: New York

"Jack?"

"Viv."

"You look exhausted. Maybe you should go home and get some rest."

"Had a call from Martin. He and Brent Marken should be here any minute."

"Brent Marken?"

"Said he's willing to tell us everything he knows."

"Why the sudden change of heart? You said he wouldn't say a word in the hospital."

"I don't know. Maybe he's tired of hiding after all these years and wants to get it all out in the open."

"Repent his sins, say a couple of 'Hail Mary's', and move on."

"Personally... I don't think the man has too many sins to repent. I think he's just as much as victim as Loralee, and paying as high a price because of it." Jack leaned forward on his elbows. "They raped him, Viv. The moment they picked him up off the road and tried to force him into a sexual act with her, they raped him just as surely as they raped her. There were two victims that night... except he's the only one still paying."

Vivian sat down and stared at the haggard man seated opposite. She knew she looked just as tired for the past few weeks had been draining on all of them. First with little Angie McCormack, and then by this complex case that spanned a quarter of a century.

She sighed deeply. "Forensics came back on the Marken Station Wagon. Clean as a whistle."

"Deliberately clean?"

"No... there was enough accumulated dirt from several years usage... but no traces of blood, human or otherwise." Vivian shook her head. "Whoever dumped Loralee Marliston's body, they didn't use that car. However, they did find blood and hair in the drain with DNA that matched Loralee Marliston." Vivian shuddered. "Still makes me cringe knowing someone cut and dyed her hair *after* they crushed her skull." Vivian took a seat. "But it explains why Forensics thought it was old dye. Whoever did it didn't want to get too close to the scalp so they left the dark roots showing... made it look as if the hair had grown out some since being dyed."

He frowned. "Didn't Mrs. Marken's profile mention her working as a beautician at a Funeral Parlor just before she married?"

"I *was* wondering when you'd notice that."

Jack smiled, seeing the teasing glint in Vivian's dark eyes. "To be truthful... I hadn't thought about it until now."

"Well... McGraw's agents had, and they believe it's enough to bring her back in for questioning."

Jack nodded. Marge Marken had demanded a lawyer the moment Agent Harris confronted her with the murder weapon. He looked up as he caught sight of Martin escorting Brent Marken towards his office, his eyes flicking to Vivian. Martin tapped on the glass.

"Jack?"

Jack noticed how quick Martin was to see to Marken's comfort and he felt a momentary twinge of concern. He *had* hoped Martin would figure out what he wanted from a life partner and would stop wasting his time pursuing the wrong gender, but this was one hell of a bad time for him to work it out... and an unfortunate choice. It wasn't that Jack had anything against Marken -- quite the opposite -- but it didn't look good for Martin to become involved in a man who was the father in their current missing person's case, and whose wife was the prime suspect in an ongoing murder investigation. It did not matter that Brent Marken had a cast iron alibi in both cases, being hospitalized due to his injuries. He was still an integral part of both investigations and Jack did not want to see that position compromised by the relationship developing between the two men.

"I want to help."

Brent looked straight into his eyes and Jack nodded, seeing the truth clearly written there. "Will you tell me about the phone call from your wife after Jody went missing?"

Marken closed his eyes momentarily as he gathered his thoughts, and then opened them, taking on a far away look as he recalled the phone call...

-ooOOoo-

"Brent?"

"Marge?"

He frowned, having not expected to hear from Marge so soon after their parting for he had sensed that she wanted to put as much distance between them as she could. He felt a little guilty at that thought. Just because they had separated, it did not mean there was no caring left between them, especially as he had not long been found -- having been missing for almost two days.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Jody."

His heart fluttered uncomfortably, his hackles rising as he recognized the fear in her voice and knew it was for their only child. Jody had returned to Cherry Falls to check on her boyfriend, Kenny, who was still recovery after Leonard Marliston's attack.

"What's happened?"

"They've taken her, Brent... and they say they'll kill her if you say anything."

"Who? Who's taken her?"

"You know who has her. She's my baby, Brent. Don't let them hurt her."

-ooOOoo-

"And that's all I know. She hung up."

"So, who has taken Jody?"

"My first thought was she meant Harry or Jim... but the more I think about it, the less sense it makes."

"Why?" Asked Martin. "They do seem to be the ones with the most to lose should a scandal break."

"That's just it. Loralee's dead... and without her there's nothing. No claims of rape, no case to build because I still don't remember much from that night, only images that could be anything -- or nothing. All I could do is raise a scandal that would destroy my family and reputation more than theirs." He snorted softly. "Especially after their lawyers get through with me."

"But somebody tried to kill you at the hospital. So you're more of a threat than you believe," added Jack.

"Yeah... I know." Brent sighed. "But I keep thinking I've overlooked something important."

Jack pulled out a photo of Greg Marliston. "Do you recall seeing this man before?"

"It's Greg Marliston." Brent gave a wry smile. "I've seen photos of him plastered across the news."

"But you don't recall seeing him on the plane or in either airport?"

Brent concentrated hard on the photograph but no new memories stirred. He shook his head in frustration. "I was so tired that day... in pain... and with that bomb Marge dropped on me too." Brent looked straight at Jack. "I should have seen him. I'm a cop for chrissakes! I'm supposed to notice people and..." He shook his head and looked away. "I should have seen him."

"What happened after you left your sister in the Coffee bar?"

"I needed to use the john. With so much turbulence on the flight I didn't even consider getting out of my seat, let alone squeezing into the airplane washroom. I went in, did what I--"

"You went into the washroom?"

"Yeah. I was standing at the urinal afterwards, having trouble with my..." Brent looked embarrassed for a moment, "errh... with my zip. And that's when Paulie came up behind me." Brent stopped and chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "I hadn't seen him in years but he reached round, straightened me up and then started pulling me towards the exit. He seemed a little furtive when we walked out onto the concourse, and I could hear all this commotion near by... but he dragged me off in the opposite direction."

"This commotion. Can you recall anything about it?"

"Not really. Just raised voices... though, at the time, I thought I saw someone who looked like Loralee but it must have been that stewardess from the Coffee bar."

"What happened to your sister?"

"I looked over to the bar, but I couldn't see her."

"Okay." Jack shuffled some papers around and pulled out another photograph. He placed it in front of Brent. "Have you seen this man before?"

"Yeah. Several times, though I pulled him over for a traffic violation a few months back. Driving over the speed limit. I gave him a ticket." Brent closed his eyes. "Wayne? Dwight?"

"Wright. His name is Wayne Wright."

"Yeah. Wayne Wright. I remember now. I'd seen him in town once or twice over the past few years. He used to stay at the motel on Orchard Street but then he stopped using it so I figured he'd found some place cheaper outside of town."

"What else can you remember about him?"

"I know he has his own transportation company. That's about it."

"Did you see him at JFK?"

"No."

Jack nodded and started placing the photos back into the files. "Thank you."

Martin helped Brent back onto his feet and led him outside. Brent could see Vivian Johnson and Jack Malone talking and he knew it had to have something to do with what he had just told them. Part of him wondered what that could be and he thought back over everything he had said to them but could see nothing amiss. However, Brent knew from personal experience that witnesses often had differing accounts of the same event, taken from their own unique perspective. Perhaps someone else's account differed from his and they needed to question why.

He slumped into a seat and watched Martin take another and pull in close to a computer. Brent had to smile when he saw the expert touch on the keyboard, watching streams of data start to flow down the screen.

"This is a list of all consignments handled by Wright Transportations over the past week. I'm going to narrow down the search parameters to look for a specific flight. Bingo!" Martin turned to Brent with a triumphant grin. He looked back and made a few more keystrokes before reaching for the paper spewing from the printer. "Be right back."

Brent watched Martin duck into Jack's office and hand over the sheet of paper. Then he turned his attention back to the desk where Martin worked, noticing very few personal items amid the manuals and folders piled up high. He looked at the monitor and saw the information on a flight to Hong Kong a few days earlier, wondering at its significance... and then he recalled that they had found Greg Marliston's body in the South China Sea. He thought back over Marge's words:

'They've taken her, Brent... and they say they'll kill her if you say anything.'

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it *was* Harry and Jim behind his daughter's kidnapping and *his* attempted murder. So why did he have a feeling that it was someone else that Marge had been referring to? He tried to recall the last time they spoke more than a few cold sentences to each other, trying hard to remember the details of that conversation.

It had been the day before Leonard Marliston's final night of terror. Marge had been drunk as usual, with her clothes reeking of cigarettes, alcohol and the smell of tacos, so he knew she'd been at the Gold Digger Bar outside town again.

-ooOOoo-

"Never guess whose skinny ass showed up in the bar tonight."

Brent looked up from his newspaper in disinterest as Marge weaved across the room and leaned in close. He wrinkled his nose up at the overpowering scent of stale cigarettes, gin and Mexican food.

"You're drunk."

Either she didn't hear his soft, disgusted words, or she didn't care as Marge carried on regardless.

"Miss Congeniality herself... and the man she's fucking who isn't her husband."

"Guess you both have so much in common," he replied sarcastically.

Brent's head snapped round at the stinging slap to his cheek. He grabbed her wrist as she went to deal a second blow, stared at her hard until she backed away.

"Bastard," she hissed before stumbling up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

-ooOOoo-

Miss Congeniality? he thought.

"Carolyn Sisler," he murmured, and then the rest fell into place. On the next afternoon he had driven out to the last known address for Loralee Sherman -- the old abandoned place giving him the creeps -- and when he had driven away from there he had been convinced that someone else had been there too, watching him.

On the way back from the old Sherman place he had passed the Gold Digger and, coupled with Marge's words from the previous evening, he had recalled the last time he had patrolled this stretch; when he had recognized the new Mondeo in the parking lot as the one he'd pulled over a few months before. He had also noticed the Sisler's Buick tucked away in the corner and had assumed it was Tom Sisler, even though it was a school day.

But what if it had been Carolyn instead, meeting her lover? And what if the lover had been Wayne Wright?

Brent pushed up from the chair and moved slowly to Jack Malone's office, suddenly aware of whom Marge could have been referring to when she said 'they' had taken Jody. He tapped on the glass and waited for Malone to bid him enter. Martin gave him a questioning look but, otherwise, he remained silent and waited.

"I'm not certain but... I think Wayne Wright is having an affair with Carolyn Sisler. I have a hunch that's the 'them' Marge was trying to warn me about."

"Carolyn Sisler is Senator John McKay's sister," added Martin in a low voice.

"It makes sense. Wright's fighting to save his company from being taken over by Adnam-White. Carolyn tells him all about Tom's little indiscretion from the past and names James Adnam-White as one of the other boys involved. If Loralee's story is believed then Adnam-White will lose his backers, and perhaps a whole lot more besides. But no one is going to corroborate her story -- except possibly for you." Jack looked at Brent.

Martin took up the story. "So Wright decides to put some pressure on Adnam-White. He can't find the real Loralee so he hires a look-a-like with the intention of taking photos showing you meeting with her, which he can then use as leverage against Adnam-White."

Brent shook his head. "I don't see how that could work. Wright has no control over Loralee Marliston or me. He couldn't stop either one of us from talking to the Press."

"Couldn't he?" The silence filled the room for a moment while Brent digested the implications behind Jack's softly spoken words.

"If you think he only kidnapped Jody to ensure my silence until he *wanted* me to talk, then why the hit on me at the hospital?"

Jack pulled out the financial supplement of his morning paper that highlighted a small entry partway down the first page. Brent read it quickly, seeing written confirmation that Adnam-White had pulled out of the hostile takeover bid less than one hour before the attack on him at the hospital. Brent felt his stomach flip with fear, aware that both his and Loralee's deaths might have been a condition of Adnam-White pulling out of the deal. Loralee was already dead. But what of Jody? Had Wright already had her killed now she was no longer needed?

"We found security footage of Greg Marliston heading towards the primary offices of Wright Transportation. Who wants to bet that's where he met his killer?" Vivian added grimly.

"Jack?" Samantha stuck her head round the door. "NYPD just picked up Wayne Wright. They're bringing him in for questioning."

-ooOOoo-

Sam looked across at the handsome man seated almost too close to Martin. She could see the lines of pain drawn across his face; its source evident by the left arm strapped tight to his body. His eyes were a warm forest green, tinged with gold and darkened with pain but they softened whenever he looked at Martin.

Her covert gaze shifted to Martin, seeing his response as he gave out signals that seemed to scream 'Take me, I'm yours'. It was a shock as she recalled turning down an invitation to go for a drink with Martin purely on the grounds that she thought a sexual relationship between co-workers undesirable. But if Martin was gay, then all he had wanted that day was company -- friendship -- and she had brushed him off.

She thought about his strained relationship with his father and wondered if this was the cause. Perhaps Deputy Director Fitzgerald was ashamed -- or unaccepting -- of his son's lifestyle? And yet, some how, Sam had the impression that this was all new to Martin, and to Marken too, though Marken wouldn't be the first man they'd come across who was living a double life, being both married and gay.

Her thoughts turned to the case she was working on with Agent Danzig in Homicide, trying to piece together the last few weeks of Greg Marliston's life and, in particular, the last twenty-four hours.

In the course of the investigation, she and Danzig had uncovered a letter from Loralee to her husband dated just the day after Deputy Sheriff Mina took down her son. It contained barely a mention of Leonard Marliston except in vituperation as Loralee cursed him for almost killing the love of her life: Brent Marken. She spoke of seeing Marken out at her parents' old home, and of watching him through the broken shutters as he stared at the abandoned and dilapidated house.

She described the way his hair shone in the sunlight, as golden as she remembered from their youth. Her words had been poetic as she went on to describe the bow of his lips, the green of his eyes and even the shape of his fingers, giving Sam the impression that she had watched him through binoculars... or had written from the heart and memory.

Loralee referred to him throughout the letter as 'My darling, Brent', and spoke of seeing him in the hospital, with their eyes meeting to share a moment of ecstasy at their long awaited reunion.

'For the eyes are mirrors to the soul, and he is mine, and I am his. Our hearts will beat as one, our bodies will move as one, and never be parted no more.'

It was all a delusion for Brent Marken had barely been aware of her presence at the hospital that night, believing her to be an image conjured up from his nightmares. His mind would have been fogged with drugs to counteract the pain from his wounds. However, his eyes would have been dilated from the drug's effects as he tried to focus on her face, so perhaps to her they had seemed to hold a passion-glaze as she stared at him in return.

Sam knew Greg Marliston had taken the next flight out to Cherry Falls for she had found his name on the passenger list. He had rented a car at the airport and he had stayed in the small town, paying for his board by credit card while he searched for his wife. Eventually he must have taken to watching over Brent Marken in the hope that Loralee would not have strayed too far from her phantom lover's side. A frame by frame scrutiny of the footage taken of Marken leaving the hospital had revealed Marliston standing in the crowd, most notable by his stillness while others around him were shouting and gesticulating. The same angle taken moments later -- as Marge Marken drove off -- showed no sign of him. Sam believed he must have gone to his own car, intending to trail Marken back to his home only to discover that Marge Marken had no intention of bringing her injured husband home.

She could only imagine Marliston's frantic race to catch up with them once he had figured out where they had gone -- or had he simply taken a gamble when he could find Marken no place else? Certainly he would not have expected to come face to face with Marge Marken as she hurried away from the airport, unable to even wait by her estranged husband's side until the boarding call.

The flight had been half-empty, so obtaining a seat had not been difficult.

Normally, it would seem suspicious that a law enforcement officer such as Sheriff Marken could spend time in the waiting lounge and then spend almost an hour-long flight with so few passengers, and yet not notice Greg Marliston. However, Marliston had not wanted to be seen by Marken and so he would have remained out of his line of sight. Then he would have taken advantage of Marken's distraction -- as he tried to settle his injured frame into one of the small seats -- to slip past him on board the airplane.

On arrival at JFK, he would have followed Brent to the coffee bar, hiding behind a newspaper while he covertly watched the brother and sister.

Sam wondered how he must have felt on seeing the Loralee look-a-like. How relieved he must have been when he thought he had found Loralee after two weeks of fruitless searching, and how that relief would have turned to anger when he realized this Loralee was an imposter. By then, Paul Sisler would have swept Marken out of the airport, and Marliston would have been left staring in frustration as the black BMW disappeared within the stream of cars heading away from JFK.

Marliston's only lead would have been Sarah Jacobson but she had disappeared into the crowds in fear of losing her job. Yet he had been caught on camera heading towards the Wright Transportation offices rather than looking for the offices of the Airline Company.

There could be only one reason why, and that was because Sarah Jacobson had told him where to go in search of answers.

"Sam, Martin." Sam looked up as Jack called her name and she followed Martin into Jack's office. "Judge Rollins has just agreed access to Wright Transportations employee records. I want you both to work on this. Once we have photos of every Wright Transportation employee at JFK and Newark then it'll be time to bring Sarah Jacobson back in for questioning... and see if she will make an ID on her mystery benefactor."

-ooOOoo-

26 Hours missing, FBI Headquarters, New York

Because of the link between the cases, McGraw asked Jack to sit in on the Wayne Wright interview. As a mere formality, Jack identified himself to the device recording the interview and then fell silent, allowing McGraw to take the lead.

He took a moment to gain a first impression of the man who might be both a kidnapper and a murderer. Wayne Wright was an average looking man in his mid-forties with brown hair, hazel eyes and a body that was prone to middle-age, and yet he was in better shape than many men his age. His eyes appraised Jack in return, allowing Jack to see the intelligence lurking behind there.

As it was, Wright had insisted on having a lawyer present from the outset, which had delayed the start of the questioning. Both lawyer and client wore suits with a total ease of familiarity so Jack could see that Wright was not the type to get his hands dirty. Inwardly, he knew that if Wright had anything to do with either Jody Marken's disappearance or Greg Marliston's murder then it was most likely that he had acted through a subordinate. He knew from experience that it would make any case against Wright far harder to prove, unless they could identify that subordinate and get that person to testify against their employer.

To this end, Sam and Martin had run down a list of all Wright Transportations employees, with Brent Marken checking the list too, in case a name or face should trigger a memory, but nobody had stood out. At this moment, Sam and Danzig were in a separate interrogation room having requested a second interview with Sarah Jacobson, with her lawyer present.

However, no matter the outcome of the second Sarah Jacobson interview, Jack knew this interview with Wayne Wright would be a pointless exercise. They had nothing to link him directly to either case except for his opposition to Adnam-White's hostile take-over bid of his company, and an unproved rumor that he was having an affair with Carolyn Sisler. Neither of these constituted an offence, and neither would be sufficient to hold Wright in custody pending further investigation.

***


	2. Chapter 2

At that same moment, Sam was listening as Sarah Jacobson re-stated her version of the events, and in her mind's eye she tried to picture the whole scene from Greg Marliston's point of view...

-ooOOoo-

Greg Marliston spied on Brent Marken from behind the cover of a newspaper as Marken took a seat in the coffee bar, watching as the woman who had accompanied him from the arrivals gate went to get coffee. Part of him wondered who this new woman might be for she was most certainly not his wife as they had left her back in New England. He thought he could discern a family resemblance, but from this distance it was a little too hard to judge. He averted his eyes as the woman glanced across at him, worried that she might have caught him staring, but she had turned her attention back to Marken by the time he raised his eyes once more.

Silently, he stared at his rival for Loralee's affection, wishing he knew how to fight this ghost from the past that Loralee had refused to let go of. Couldn't she see that *he* loved her, wanted her... needed her. He had given her everything within his power but it would never be enough for what she wanted above all else was Brent Marken.

When news of the serial killings had reached Loralee, she had known right away that Leonard was the murderer. She had flown to Cherry Falls, stopping on route close to the remote house where her family had been forced to move after being ostracized by the small town. She had walked the mile from the crossroads, allowing nostalgia to fill her as she recalled how she used to spend that time daydreaming of Brent.

In her fantasies only Brent had found her on that darkened road that night, and he had made passionate love to her, filling her with his essence, and creating their love child. But the reality would hit the moment she reached that house as she looked into the blue-eyes of a child who bore no resemblance to the boy she still adored. She knew her son was not *his* child for even with the alcohol they had forced into her, she had remained lucid enough to know that he had not been among her rapists despite their best efforts to force him into the violent act.

He had been too drunk.

To anyone else Brent's arrival at the house that day would have been explained away as pure coincidence but Loralee had seen it as a sign from GOD that they were meant to be together. And yet she had faltered, too overcome with fear and desire to approach him until it was too late. By the time she had gathered up the courage, night had fallen over the town of Cherry Falls; a night filled with screams and blood as Leonard wreaked his vengeance upon their children -- in her name.

Greg knew all of this from her letter, reading with a mixture of awe and dismay as her beautiful words painted images of the boy-turned-man that she had loved from afar for most of her life.

Marken had risen from his seat, and Greg had been tempted to follow him into the washroom... but then he saw Loralee standing close to the coffee bar as she watched Marken with an intensity that he wished she could have saved for him. He sighed in relief and approached her, desperate to try and make her see reason; wanting her to recognize that what *they* had was real, and that it was worth holding onto rather than her following this nebulous dream for the unobtainable Brent Marken.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, calling her name imploringly... and came face-to-face with a near stranger dressed up as his wife. Shock gave way to anger as he recognized the stewardess from the plane and he shouted his demands, wanting to know why she was dressed as Loralee. Where was his beloved wife? Why was this woman pretending to be her? And who had told her to dress this way?

When he calmed sufficiently to recall that he was following Brent Marken, it was too late. He saw the injured man being ushered from the airport, and by the time he reached the door, Brent Marken had gone, swallowed up by the traffic heading West towards Manhattan. In fury he turned back to the woman masquerading as his wife, threatening to report her to her airline unless she told him where Marken had gone, but she had no answers. All she could give him was a name -- Wright Transportations -- and he stormed out of the airport intent on finding someone at that company who would give him the answers he sought.

-ooOOoo-

Sarah Jacobson's account of her meeting with Greg Marliston came to an end as she described how she had slipped away, quickly ripping off the wig and changing into her own clothes in the hope that Marliston would forget all about her.

When she reached the airline's main office there was a new assignment waiting for her; the coveted Far East flight. Within a few hours she was breathing a sigh of relief as she left US air space far behind her, completely unaware that the man who had accosted her on the concourse lay frozen to death barely fifteen feet below her.

Danzig asked the next most important question. "The man who initially approached you to dress up in the wig and dark clothing... would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

Sarah Jacobson glanced at her lawyer, who merely nodded.

"Yes, I would recognize him if I saw him."

"Then would you be prepared to look through some photographs?"

Again the look towards her lawyer who indicated that she should comply with the request. Ten minutes later, Sam was staring at the face that Sarah Jacobson had picked out, and reading the name silently: Arnold Grazer, head of security for Wright Transportations.

Sam glanced at Danzig, aware that they might be staring at the man who had killed Greg Marliston, abducted Jody Marken and organized a hit on Brent Marken.

But had he acted alone, or had he been acting under orders from his employer, Wayne Wright?  
Back to index  
Part 4 by Tarlan  
30 Hours missing

Brent sighed in frustration as the hours passed slowly with no new information. It was now just after midnight and no one had seen or heard from Arnold Grazer since lunchtime. He had told his staff that he would be taking a longer break than usual so they did not start to worry about him until quite late in the afternoon.

Brent swore softly. It could not be a coincidence that Grazer's decision to take a long lunch had been made around the same time Wayne Wright and Sarah Jacobson were brought in for questioning. His sixth sense -- honed from years of experience as both deputy and sheriff -- had kicked in immediately, and he was certain that Grazer was the man who had taken his daughter.

Everything that Jack's team had uncovered since then supported his gut feeling. Grazer had offered to handle the cargo security for the Newark flight personally as the company was short of staff. So he had been at Newark and working on the same flight that Jody had booked. With his security clearance, he would have been able to move about the restricted areas with relative ease.

Brent laughed softly at how easy it would have been for Grazer to snatch his daughter.

"You need to rest."

Vivian Johnson broke into his reverie and Brent stared up at her for a moment in tired confusion before her words sank in. He sighed, his right hand unconsciously reaching upwards to rub at his sore left shoulder, arm and chest. He looked around the near-empty office but could see no place more comfortable than the chair on which he already sat.

"An agent can take you to the safe house for tonight, and bring you back here in the morning--"

"Perhaps Agent Fitzgerald--?"

Vivian gave him a warm but knowing smile. "Martin's on his way back so I should think that'd be okay."

Brent felt a slight flush of embarrassment heat his face, realizing too late how perceptive this woman could be, and knowing that she had figured out his interest in Martin. Part of him cringed at how he must seem to this woman, and he wished he could explain exactly how Martin made him feel. His life had been spiraling out of control since that night twenty-five years earlier, though it had started so slowly that he barely noticed until Leonard Marliston set everything spinning wildly. Over the course of a few weeks, his whole existence had come crashing down around him, and more than one skeleton had been dragged kicking and screaming from its closet.

Even though it was unlikely that any charges would ever be laid against him, he knew his tenure as Sheriff of Cherry Falls had come to an ignoble end. Too many of the townsfolk had heard rumors of his involvement with Loralee, and they blamed him for the death her son had brought to their sleepy town. He knew he would not be fired but he expected to find a letter requesting his resignation waiting for him upon his return. Of course, he could always refuse but what would be the point? It would only open up the wounds festering beneath the surface for all concerned, leading to acrimonious words that would be better left unspoken.

The same applied equally to his now-dead marriage, and had he been left alone to deal with this decimation of his life, Brent was uncertain how he would have coped. Inwardly, he had visions of taking out his service gun, placing it against his temple and then pulling the trigger. However, Martin Fitzgerald had come into his life and, some how, he had swept up the broken pieces and shown him that it could be put back together again. And this time, the foundation would be far stronger for there would be no cracks or weakness formed by the lies he had been forced to live over the decades. This time he could freely admit that he felt no joy in the arms of a woman. This time he could offer his heart, body and soul to the one he wanted and loved, for he had already laid bare his dirty secrets and had nothing left to hide.

But was Martin that person?

As he saw the handsome man stride back into the office, watching the smile that curved the soft lips and brightened the tired eyes, Brent felt his heart skip a beat. He felt a warmth seeping through him, its heat spreading through to take the chill from his soul. He'd never felt that way before about anyone. He had never wanted to touch someone so badly, and to feel that person touch him in return. He felt like a giddy school kid, his fingers subconsciously rising to press against his lips as they tingled in remembrance of their kiss.

"Martin? Martin?"

Vivian's question broke through and he felt a bubble of pleasure rise at knowing Martin had become too engrossed in reaching him to notice his co-worker. He sobered instantly; feeling guilty at finding any pleasure while Jody was missing.

Martin had turned to Vivian but before she could speak, Jack came up.

"Martin, Vivian. Get a hold of Sam and Danny. McGraw's called a meeting in Cherry Falls and some of us are invited. The helicopter leaves in twenty. I want Martin and Sam with me. Viv, you hold the fort with Danny."

Brent looked away; feeling despondent at knowing Martin would not be accompanying him after all, but he looked back as Jack called his name.

"Sheriff Marken. I'd like you to come along too... if you're feeling up to it."

Brent nodded, and within fifteen minutes they were heading to the helipad on the top of the building. He smiled his gratitude as Martin buckled him into his seat, recalling the problems he'd had on the flight to JFK as he tried to grab two ends of the buckle with only one hand.

His left hand was still held taut against his side by the bandaging encasing his shoulder, arm and chest though he hoped the restriction would not be in place for that much longer. As Martin leaned in close, Brent could smell the clean-cut scent of his aftershave and noticed that his face was clean-shaven. He dredged up a smile as Martin helped him to adjust the headset so they could all talk during the flight.

During the bumpy takeoff, with the helicopter buffeted by the crosswinds swirling around the high buildings, Brent let his thoughts drift to the reason for this sudden departure back to his hometown. Jack had revealed to them that McGraw's men had brought Carolyn Sisler in for questioning, and she had confirmed her extra-marital affair with Wayne Wright after being informed that they had witnesses who had seen them together at the Gold Digger. She also confirmed that she was a sleeping partner in more than just the sexual sense. She had placed a large percentage of her personal fortune, and most of her late husband's capital, into Wright Transportations.

Adnam-White's subsidiaries accounted for more than 60 percent of Wright's business, and the hostile takeover had been based on Adnam-White taking his business elsewhere should Wright *not* agree to the transfer of ownership. So the choice had been to lose more than 60 percent of their business but retain the company ownership, or lose ownership and still see their shares depreciated by more than 40 percent through the loss of the other business accounts.

Whichever way it went, Carolyn's capital venture would have left her bankrupt at a time when she needed to restructure her finances following the murder of her husband. It had been a no-win situation for her until Tom had revealed the twenty-five-year old skeleton in Adnam-White's closet only a few hours before he met his death at Leonard Marliston's hand.

Carolyn admitted to passing on that information to her lover, thereby giving her and Wright a third option; the means to put pressure back onto Adnam-White to withdraw his bid and leave his business with Wright Transportations for a set period. Brent was certain that the terms of that agreement were not recorded in any legal or public place as Adnam-White would not wish to be connected with a murder. It was now in Wright and Sisler's best interest to ensure that those terms were met, for a scandal could bring Adnam-White's business crashing down, leaving them back with Option 2: still owners of Wright Transportation but with the loss of their most important client.

Once the helicopter had left the towering buildings of New York behind, Brent spent most of the flight with his body pressed up against Martin's left side, allowing Martin to brace him against the gentle buffeting and keep his left side from impacting against the side wall of the cabin. He closed his eyes, meaning only to rest them while Samantha, Jack and Martin talked over aspects of the various cases that ran in parallel, but when the helicopter banked sharply, he awoke with a start to find Sam smiling at him warmly. Only then did he realize that he had fallen asleep, using Martin's shoulder as a pillow.

"We're almost there," she said, and Brent glanced out of the side window wondering if he would be able to make out any of the landscape in the darkness.

A gibbous moon hung low in the sky, reflecting off the ripples made by the helicopter as they swooped across the wide lake and then over the small falls that gave the town its name. Ahead, Brent could see the first street lights along the main highway into the town, lined up like a landing strip, and then the small mass of lights from the roads branching off the main street.

Brent knew that the Sheriff's office had a large area round back which had been used from time to time as a helipad, and he felt the slight bump as the helicopter settled down there. He took a deep breath, feeling strangely uneasy to be back here even though he had left the town less than a week earlier. So much had happened to him over the course of these past few weeks -- events that had changed his life so dramatically -- that his memories of this sleepy town seemed to come from a far distant past. He pulled off the headset and reached for the buckle, finding it easy to remove with just the push of his thumb. Jack was the first to climb out, followed by Sam and then Martin. As he climbed down the steps, he was grateful for Martin's strong hand at his elbow, and together they walked towards his office with heads bent low as the blades scythed the air just a scant few feet above them.

Brent smiled as Acting Sheriff Mina greeted him with a genuine grin of pleasure, having already acknowledged the two familiar FBI agents accompanying him. Brent waited for Jack to introduce Martin before he stepped forward. Mina reached out and touched his uninjured arm, leaning in to be heard above the sound of the helicopter as it took off.

"Good to see you back. How's the shoulder?"

"Mending... slowly."

"Too slowly?" She grinned and he chuckled softly, aware of the long-standing joke between them from previous injuries sustained by one or the other of them.

Mina led the small group inside and paused in the outer office, eyes widening a fraction, head tilted, making him realize that she was willingly deferring to him even though he was, technically, on sick call. It seemed strange to step inside his office and see everything still in its place just as he had left it on that last day. For some reason, he still felt as if he had stepped back in time to a life that he had left behind a millennia ago.

"Is McGraw here?" Jack looked around the empty office area.

"He and his people are in the conference room along the hall... but I thought you might want to take a moment to freshen up before the meeting."

Jack seemed genuinely surprised by her courtesy, and Brent wondered how often he and his fellow FBI agents had been seen as a nuisance, to be dealt with as quickly as humanely possible so they would finish their business and go away.

"Thank you," he replied, and pointed along the short corridor to where he could see the sign for the men's washroom. Sam followed in search of the women's equivalent, wanting to take advantage of the chance to freshen up before the meeting.

Brent headed towards the water font and filled a Styrofoam cup to the brim. He placed the water on to the desk and fumbled inside his pocket for the painkillers.

"Need any help there?" Martin indicated towards the child safety cap that made it difficult to open, smiling when Brent handed him the small container. He shook out two tablets, handing them over before resealing and then giving back the container.

Brent mumbled his thanks as he swallowed both tablets with a single mouthful of cool water. He looked up as Jack and Sam approached.

"We ready?" Jack asked, his eyes capturing each of them in turn.

There was no dissent so Mina led them down the hallway to the room that McGraw's people had taken over. She stood aside and let Jack enter first, and only then did Brent notice that Martin had taken up position at the rear, ostensibly to show that Brent's presence was intentional.

McGraw had taken a seat at the top of the table, and his men had taken the chairs around him leaving the far end of the twelve-seater conference table empty. Brent raised an eyebrow when Jack pulled out the seat directly opposite McGraw but offered it to *him* rather than taking it for himself. Martin sat down on Brent's right and Brent was surprised when Jack took a seat on his left with Sam next to him. It became obvious to Brent that Jack wanted to make certain that no one would doubt the validity of his presence at this meeting.

As Mina sat down beside Martin, Brent could tell by her slight smile that she loved this show of power wrangling.

Danzig stared along the table at him, his brow creased. "Sir, is it wise to include Sheriff Marken? After all he's the missing girl's father and closely related to our main suspects in the Loralee Marliston murder."

McGraw smiled. "Your concern is noted, Agent Danzig," then he leaned forward, regarding Brent with intrigue as if he was about to dissect a bug, "but I feel his presence may add to the proceedings -- which is why I asked Jack to bring him along." McGraw sat back. "Jack, perhaps one of your people could start this meeting." He indicated towards the two large white boards where one of his agents had already arranged a series of names around one board, including Brent's. McGraw looked from Brent to Mina. "Please feel free to join in the proceedings with any pertinent information we might have overlooked."

Jack nodded towards Sam, and Brent watched as she stepped up to the board exuding confidence as she began to summarize all the information they had uncovered since taking the case of Brent's disappearance from JFK. He listened closely as she set up a basic timeline of events starting with Leonard Marliston's psychotic rampage but noticed that she had left a small blank area on the far left of the board. His gut feeling told him that this space would be filled with the events from twenty-five years in his past. On the second board, she quickly built up a spider web of lines connecting individuals, using different pen colors to differentiate between the links -- including one to link him and three other boys' names with the tag 'rape accusation' written against it.

A single name stood out at the top of the board, stirring a memory from when Paulie took him from JFK.

'Is this about Loralee?' he had asked, and Paul had replied, 'Of course it's about Loralee. Everything has been about Loralee for the last twenty-five years.'

Sam moved from one board to the other as she talked through all the links and the information uncovered, eventually leading to the strong possibility that Arnold Grazer had murdered Greg Marliston. The evidence was stacked against him as Sarah Jacobson had identified him as the man who asked her to dress up as Loralee, and staff work records proved that he had been at JFK on the day Greg Marliston stormed out of the airport heading towards the Wright Transportation offices. In addition, Grazer had security clearance that would have allowed him access to the underside of the plane where Marliston's unconscious body had been stowed -- and where he had frozen to death during the flight.

So far, only a single motive stood out.

Grazer had been brought into Wright Transportations eight years earlier having been out of work for several years following his release from prison. His court records showed that he had been found guilty of using unreasonable force against a man protesting the actions of his former employer, resulting in the man being hospitalized for several months. The company concerned had been forced to pay out thousands of dollars in compensation for his unnecessary aggression, making Grazer an insurance risk that few companies were willing to take even if they were willing to overlook his prison record. So his chances of finding a similar position should Wright Transportations go into bankruptcy were extremely slim.

When Adnam-White pulled out of the hostile takeover bid -- having extended his contract with Wright Transportations for another three years -- he had not only ensured that Wright and Sisler's financial position would remain good, but also Grazer's. However, this meant that Grazer had a solid motive for acting alone, making it even harder to prove that Wright or Carolyn Sisler had played a major role in his actions.

Danzig spoke up. "The link has to be Loralee, for how would Grazer have found out about this twenty-five-year old accusation otherwise?" He looked around the table. "Even though the 'Virgin Killer' case reached the news cycle in New York, there had been no names mentioned--"

"Tom Sisler would have been mentioned," stated Brent softly. His thoughts drifted back over two weeks to that last evening after his return from checking out the Sherman's old property...

-ooOOoo-

All the kids had left hours before leaving the high school empty. His footsteps echoed along the corridor, the hollow sound bouncing off the walls as he made his way towards the Principle's office. Tom Sisler had contacted him via Mina earlier, saying they needed to talk, and this was where they had elected to have that talk. As he approached Sisler's office he noticed that only a single desk light bled through to the outer office. He opened the door and stepped inside, his mind going numb with the shock of finding Sisler bound to his chair, eyes wide and rolled back -- obviously dead -- and with the words 'not virgin' carved into his forehead. He could not recall hearing the soft footfall, being too wrapped up in the gruesome sight... and then his head exploded into shards of intense pain as someone struck him from behind.

He regained consciousness only to find he was still in a world of darkness and, worse still, he was trapped inside a small space. Every movement caused pain to flare in his head, with his weak cries muffled by the duct tape sealing his mouth. Panic set in as he thought he might suffocate inside the enclosed area and he tried to kick out against the sides but the tightness of his prison left no room for movement. He pushed up against the lid with his tightly bound arms but it would not give for he had no leverage in his legs or arms.

Several jolts and a sensation of falling left him hyperventilating as he tried to draw enough breath through his nose... and then came Jody's familiar voice, muffled through the layers of wood, and then the less familiar voice of Leonard Marliston seeped into the darkness surrounding him.

Brent moaned in fear as he felt his tiny prison sliding downwards, picking up speed only to slam into something solid at the end of the ride. He heard light footsteps descending towards him, realizing that he had just been sent hurtling down a flight of stairs, and then Jody's voice was right above him, demanding to know what was in the trunk.

Trunk. He was in a trunk, and Leonard Marliston must have put him in there after killing Tom Sisler and knocking him unconscious. He could feel a trickle of fresh blood flowing over the stickiness of older blood, and he squinted as the lid was raised, his eyes watering from the stabs of light piercing him after having spent his waking moments in complete darkness. As his vision cleared, Brent could only watch in horror as Marliston grabbed Jody and dragged her into the basement room.

-ooOOoo-

"Tom Sisler would have been mentioned," stated Brent, and Martin had picked up his softly spoken words, "...and it wouldn't take much effort to link Tom Sisler to Carolyn Sisler. As head of security, he'd have known of her involvement with Wright... but he wouldn't have been able to link in Adnam-White."

"Unless he came across that information purely by chance," added Mina. "There was a lot of talk after that night. A lot of wild rumors flying through the town with people trying to find someone to blame for what had happened." She looked at Brent. "People started to talk about the connection between you and Tom Sisler... and others mentioned that they'd been two other boys in your high school crowd."

She looked to McGraw, knowing that he was the senior agent here. "When Loralee Marliston made her accusation just a few days later, without releasing the names of her rapists, McKay and Adnam-White's names might have come up."

Sam continued. "But no one in the media would be willing to run those powerful names on nothing more than hearsay. Between McKay's political connections and Adnam-White's media and electronics empires, they'd have been crucified with a law suit to end all law suits."

Jack turned to Brent. "They would need Loralee and some other form of corroboration. With Tom Sisler dead, that would leave only you... a potentially damaging witness whether you could recall if it was rape or not, for you could still place both of them at the scene."

"What about the paternity test results?" asked Danzig. "We know that his father was neither Sisler nor... nor you, Sheriff Marken, which leaves either McKay or Adnam-White."

Danzig had the grace to look a little chagrined at having revealed this information but Brent knew only relief that Marliston had definitely not been his child. Of course, it had always been highly unlikely that he had fathered Loralee's child that night due to his drunken state, and his lack of inclination towards her.

"Until we have a positive ID on the father, we have to question Loralee's accusation of one of those four boys being the father... and also the circumstances under which the child was conceived. She may have already been pregnant, or she may have fallen pregnant soon after... by another boy entirely."

"The truth is--"

"The truth is questionable until we have all the facts." Jack gave Agent Carter a pointed look. "My point is, the question of paternity only links Loralee to the father of the child, and not to the events surrounding that child's conception. It cannot prove rape, only that sexual intercourse took place."

"Whereas," added Martin, "Sheriff Marken's account of that night could lend credence to Loralee Marliston's claim of rape, which brings us back to either McKay or Adnam-White needing to have *you* eliminated." He looked earnestly at Brent. "Without your testimony, Loralee's accusation would never get a decent hearing."

Brent sighed at the logic. Whether the deal had been made by Grazer alone, or through Wright, it seemed very likely that Adnam-White had paid for someone to silence all those who could damage his reputation, namely, Loralee Marliston and himself. His payment had been made through his actions in withdrawing from the hostile takeover and leaving his business with Wright Transportations. And yet, Brent felt his testimony was almost useless without Loralee's, even if it did carry the weight of his former respectability as Sheriff of Cherry Falls.

Brent frowned and closed his eyes, trying to capture the elusive thought that floated in the back of his mind. His eyes widened as it came within his grasp.

"Has anyone released details of Loralee's murder?"

McGraw stared hard at him. "No. The body pulled out of the lake is still labeled a Jane Doe with no new information released. We specifically asked Deputy Sheriff Mina for this to be kept under wraps."

"Then Grazer doesn't know she's dead," added Brent.

Martin licked his lips and leaned in, looking directly at Brent. "Most likely, he needs to silence both you and Loralee Marliston, but you're beyond his reach right now."

Brent added, "And the last known person to see Loralee was Jody. She thought she glimpsed her in the street close to here on the morning after Leonard Marliston's rampage."

Jack joined in the train of thought. "And the betting is... Grazer has your daughter, and he may have taken that information from her."

Martin replied in a low voice. "He's here... in Cherry Falls. He probably took the 13:30 flight from JFK."

Sam spoke up quietly. "Or he's some place close by. Some place where he thinks Loralee might show up."

"Such as?" Danzig stared hard at Sam, waiting for her answer.

She narrowed her eyes as if seeking the answer from deep within, then smiled softly as if she had recalled something of great importance. "The old Sherman residence."

Brent shuddered inwardly as he recalled visiting the dilapidated house where Loralee's parents had moved following the events twenty-five years earlier...

-ooOOoo-

He felt uneasy as he entered the house, the short hairs at the nape of his neck rising as he sensed the misery and pain that seemed to seep from the very walls. Some instinct drove him down into the basement, and he took the steps slowly, gun held out in readiness before him.

Downstairs he found a rusting cot that held very little in the way of comfort for a small child. Immediately, he knew that this forbidding, dark and dingy room had been a child's bedroom rather than just a dumping ground for a cot that had outlived its usefulness. The clues were there in the way it was positioned, and in the mobile hanging above. He spied a small lump curled beneath a tattered rag of a blanket, and he eased the blanket aside with the barrel of his gun, silently dreading what he might uncover. Brent sighed in relief when he discovered a child's plaything rather than a small body.

A sense of claustrophobia overwhelmed him and, eagerly, he climbed back up the stairs and raced out of the house, wanting to feel the last of the day's sunshine on his face and breathe the clean, sweet air. Yet, even as he walked back to his patrol car, Brent had a feeling that someone was watching him. He could sense eyes boring into his back, sending a shiver of fear along his spine.

He sat in his patrol car for several minutes, staring back at the house, deep in thought as he wondered about the child who had slept in that cot.

Nothing moved. Not a twitch of the rotting curtains nor the shudder of a closed shutter being slowly pried open... and then the radio squawked, making him jump and breaking the spell under which he had fallen. He answered the call. Tom Sisler had been trying to get a hold of him, and he asked Mina to pass a message back.

Brent gunned the engine and drove away, hoping he would never have to return to that place. He could only be grateful that he had not arrived there after sunset for the irrational fear of being watched followed him until he had left the house far behind.

At this time of year the evenings drew close very early, and by the time he reached the High School, where he had agreed to meet Tom Sisler, it was already dark.

-ooOOoo-

By the time the memory let go of him, he noticed that the FBI agents were already busy planning an assault on the old property. Despite his desire never to see that place again, Brent knew that Jody might be there.

"I want to go with you."

"No." Jack's dark, compassionate eyes bore into him, and then he raised a hand to forestall Brent's argument. "You're injured, tired and in pain. That makes you a liability. If your daughter's there then we'll do our utmost to ensure she gets out of there alive and well. You have to trust us."

Brent dragged a hand through his hair and looked to Martin, seeing the same determination on his face and knowing Martin agreed with his superior. He could only nod in acceptance, and within fifteen minutes, the FBI agents, guided by Deputy Mina, were speeding away from Cherry Falls leaving him alone with one of his deputies.

Brent knew this operation could take a few hours and he figured he might as well put the time to good use.

"Cliff? You mind running me home?"

"Sure thing, Sheriff."

Having written out a short note, which he left for Martin Fitzgerald, Brent followed his deputy from the building and sank into the passenger seat. He barely noticed the passing streets as Cliff drove him to the place he had called home only because his beloved daughter was raised there. When Cliff parked up on the drive, Brent looked around in surprise, wondering why nothing had changed in the neighborhood when it seemed as if he had been gone for years rather than a few weeks.

As he felt through his pockets, he realized that he did not have a house key. His first thought was to turn away and ask Cliff to take him back to the station, but then he noticed that there was a light on inside the house. Brent frowned, knowing from the direction and brightness that it had to be the light leading down into the basement. Part of him wondered what Marge could be doing down there in the early hours of the morning, and then he decided that it really did not matter. What mattered was that she was awake and could let him in.

He rang the doorbell and turned to Cliff. "Left my keys in New York," he said by way of explanation. On the second ring, Brent recognized Marge's silhouette as she reached for the door hesitantly. She opened it a crack, her eyes widening as she saw him standing on her doorstep.

"What do you want?"

"To come in."

"You can't. Go away, Brent," she snarled almost under her breath.

There was a noise from inside the house, and another shadow detached itself from the internal wall close by, ripping the door open wide. A single shot rang out softly, muffled by the silencer attached to the barrel, and Brent could only turn and watch in shock as Cliff's forehead gained a third, unblinking eye before he fell backwards, spreadeagled across the path.

When Brent looked back, the business end of the gun was pointed directly into his face.

"Not quite who I was expecting... but you're more than welcome nonetheless." Grazer gave a menacing grin, which dropped away just as quickly. He indicated towards the dead deputy. "Drag him inside." He gave Marge a hard shove. "You help him."

With the gun held in a steady hand and aimed towards them, Brent had no choice but to obey so he grabbed one of Cliff's arms while Marge caught hold of the other. Between them they dragged the unfortunate deputy's body into the hall.

Grazer pushed the door closed behind them and, with several flicks of the gun, he ushered them towards the basement door. Brent descended the stairs slowly, looking for any opportunity to fight back but none presented itself. His eyes went wide when he reached the bottom, his heart thumping hard with both joy and fear combined as he caught sight of Jody tied to a chair near the center of the room. He took a step towards her, catching the pain and sorrow in her eyes as she gazed beyond him to their captor.

Close to her was another chair set almost at right angles, and with strips of duct tape still clinging to the arm rests and legs. Brent had a feeling that Marge had occupied that chair only a few minutes earlier.

"Sit down." Grazer indicated towards the chair and Brent swallowed hard as he obeyed. He saw Grazer reach for the roll of duct tape and throw it; it landed at Marge's feet. "Bind him tightly."

Brent tried to send reassurance through his eyes as Marge looked at him in both fear and dismay. He felt the duct tape tighten across the skin of his right wrist as she bound it to the armrest, and then she knelt down at his feet. Part of him hoped Grazer was not paying too close attention and would not notice that she wrapped the duct tape over the top of his socks, but Grazer admonished her.

"Take the socks and shoes off. That's better."

Memories flooded back of the last time he had been trussed in such a fashion, and he felt just as vulnerable now with his legs spread and bound to the chair's front legs, and his arm strapped down so he would not be able to raise it to defend himself.

Grazer pulled out another seat and set it down so that it made the third side of a square with all three seats facing inwards, and then he told Marge to sit down. Quickly, he bound her to the chair and then he stood back and chuckled gently.

"Hadn't expected to be playing Happy Families... but then, you're not much of a happy family, are you?"

Brent ignored Grazer and looked at Jody. "You all right?"

She nodded, and it broke his heart to see her eyes so filled with fear so soon after the terrible event with Leonard Marliston. She didn't deserve any of this. Brent looked back at Grazer.

"Now you have me, why don't you let them go. They don't know anything--"

"Shut up."

"*She's* just a kid for Chrissakes. She--"

Grazer ripped off a large section of duct tape and slapped it over Brent's mouth. "I do the talking around here so shut... the fuck... up." He leaned in close, and all trace of anger seemed to vanish from him until Brent looked into his pale blue eyes and saw it there. "Okay. That's better. Now. I have one question for you that requires a yes or no answer." Grazer paused as if to make certain Brent was listening. "Do you know where I can find Loralee Marliston?"

Brent considered making no response but then realized that Grazer was the type who would hurt either Marge or Jody in order to make him talk, so he nodded once. It was the truth after all. He did know where Grazer could find Loralee... at the morgue.

Grazer leaned forward with a small smile playing over his thin lips, and he ripped away the duct tape. Even though it had been there for little more than a minute, it stung Brent's skin and he winced with the fresh pain.

"Where is she?"

"She's here... in Cherry Falls."

"Where?"

"I can take you to her.. if you let my wife and daughter go."

"How about you tell me where to find her? Or I'll kill your wife and daughter. Right here, and right now."

Brent licked suddenly dry lips. "You'll never find the place alone. It's outside of the town."

Brent realized his mistake too late. He'd already told Grazer that Loralee was in Cherry Falls, and now he'd implied that she was someplace outside of the town. The gun seemed to rise in slow motion, the barrel arcing round, straight at Jody and then beyond to Marge. The single dulled sound seemed to echo malignantly around the enclosed basement, accompanied by Brent's cry of despair as Marge's head snapped back, the bullet passing through her forehead and exploding out the back in a mass of blood, bone and brains.

The gun swung back around until the barrel was pointing into Jody's face. "Wrong answer. You wanna try again?"

-ooOOoo-

McGraw ordered the agents off the road about half a mile from the old Sherman house. They stopped under the cover of a small stand of trees. Martin leapt from the car and opened the trunk, retrieving a Kevlar vest, which he pulled on eagerly and then a helmet equipped with night-vision. Around him, the other agents were doing the same, and he looked to Jack as soon as he was ready. Only McGraw stood without protection, but he was not expected to enter the property. His task was to coordinate the teams, whereas Jack would be the agent in charge of the actual assault.

They moved swiftly and quietly through the trees to the edge of the clearing. Ahead stood the dilapidated house and Martin saw Jack's lips purse at the stretch of open ground they would need to cover but at least the moon had set, leaving the night sky illuminated only by starlight. Martin looked up, lips parting in awe at the incredible sight that he had long forgotten having spent the majority his life city-bound. He wondered if this same incredible view could be seen from Central Park but he doubted it would have the same impact.

Jack slapped his shoulder and he looked to him, acknowledging his order to go right with a nod of his head. He waited, adrenaline starting to surge as the others got into position, and then they moved swiftly and decisively towards the property, half-expecting to hear the sound of gunfire erupting from the behind the broken shutters that concealed the interior of the house.

Martin ducked down beneath the level of the rotting porch, waiting for the signal to take the few steps up to the front door. Jack held up a finger, then a second and on the third, they covered the small distance to the door and paused with backs to the wall either side of the door. Danzig had followed them up and crouched low, reaching out to try the handle. It swung open easily and they piled inside, staying low and moving aside to limit the time spent with their silhouettes exposed against the backdrop of the night sky.

Three agents came through from the back and gave the all-clear sign. The ground level had been thoroughly checked. Carter backed up Danzig as the agent carefully ascended the stairs leaving Jack and Martin watching the basement door. Outside the house, Martin knew that Sam and another agent were watching the rotten wooden hatch that would lead to the basement in case the FBI entry had been noticed and Grazer tried to escape. Danzig reappeared at the top of the stairs and gave the all-clear sign, leaving just the basement left to check.

Carefully, Martin eased open the door and took each step as quietly as he could. There was no light but he could see relatively well through the night-vision glasses. He could sense Jack moving down behind him, keeping back several steps for security. When Martin reached the bottom, he checked as thoroughly as possible but the place was empty.

The adrenaline dissipated leaving him feeling slightly giddy and tired and he looked back at Jack in disappointment. Taking high-power flashlights from their utility belts, they panned the darkened basement, illuminating every inch of the interior. The beams reflected off chains and hooks still hanging from the walls, and then highlighted the rusty old cot with its mildew blankets and grimy child's toy. There was nobody here.

The team of agents returned to the outside of the house, calling in McGraw.

"Empty. No one's been here in a while," stated Jack.

"Certainly not since Sheriff Marken and Loralee Marliston more than two weeks back," added Martin with a quick glance towards Sam. She shook her head in disappointment, knowing she had brought them all here on a wild goose chase but McGraw seemed good-natured about it.

"Well... we can at least eliminate this place from our search. Where else people?"

"Leonard Marliston's house?" Offered Danzig.

Deputy Mina joined the group. "No. We check through there three times a day because the local kids want to see the place where 'it all happened'. I checked around ten last night. Place was empty."

"Then we may as well head back to the motel, people. Start afresh tomorrow after a quick debriefing." McGraw started to walk away, but then turned back. "You did well."

Martin carefully stowed his vest and helmet back into the trunk of Mina's patrol car and then climbed in. He hated having to return to Brent empty-handed, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes but there was not much he could do about that. With a heavy heart he gazed out of the side window as Mina drove them back towards the town. The twelve miles passed quickly, and soon they were pulling into the parking space reserved for the Sheriff, having seen McGraw and his men branch off towards the motel a few blocks back.

Only a skeleton presence remained in the station and Martin sighed as he caught sight of the envelope with his name written on it. He opened it and started to read the contents, finding a small smile as he thought of the man who had written this.

"Brent's gone 'home', " he emphasized the word 'home' almost derogatively, "Said he needs to gather up a few personal belongings before we head back to New York. He said he'd be back within the hour."

Sam turned to the deputy stationed on the night watch. "When did he leave."

"Deputy Hunsan drove him there about an hour ago. I can raise him if you'd like and get an update on his ETA."

Jack stepped up. "Ask Deputy Hunsan to take Sheriff Marken straight to the motel. We'll be heading there ourselves."

Martin gave Jack a sideways glance, amazed that Jack felt so certain that Brent would not be staying the remainder of the night in what should have been his own home. Jack's assessment spoke volumes to Martin, assuring him that Brent's marriage was as dead as Martin hoped. He felt a flash of guilt at that thought but Martin had never wanted anyone as bad as he wanted Brent, and that could not happen if Brent decided to give his marriage one last try. He only half-listened as Deputy Johnson tried to contact his colleague, but he turned his full attention back when Johnson could not raise Hunsan.

"Maybe he's left his walkie-talkie in the car. Wouldn't be the first time," Johnson added with a shrug, but Martin could see concern darkening Johnson's blue eyes and was certain there was something amiss.

Martin turned his worried gaze to Sam, freezing when he saw the disquiet on her face. Slowly, her lips parted, her eyes flicking up to Martin's face and then across to Jack. She reached for the bag containing all the necessary paperwork and rummaged inside, bringing out a crumpled ivory sheet of paper with a crease line from where it had been folded. She read out the words.

"'For the eyes are mirrors to the soul, and he is mine, and I am his. Our hearts will beat as one, our bodies will move as one, and never be parted no more." Her eyes widened in realization. "We know Grazer wants to be where Loralee might show... but Loralee wanted to be with Brent Marken."

Jack spun on his heel and faced Mina. "Are the vests still in your patrol vehicle." She nodded. "We need you to take us out to the Marken residence. No siren, no lights, and stop at the end of the street."

"Shall I contact McGraw," asked Martin.

Jack stared at him for a moment then shook his head slowly. "No. We can be forgiven for one wild goose chase... not so sure how A.D. McGraw would react to another one tonight... so let's scope the place first, and then call for back-up if needed."

Within ten minutes they were parked at the end of the street, just out of sight from the house. Martin gathered his vest and helmet again, pulling them on quickly. His heart was hammering in this chest, and his blood thrumming through his veins. Before, he had felt adrenaline flow through him from the excitement of the task ahead but this time he knew fear, for it was someone he had fallen in love with who might be in danger inside that house. He berated himself for his fears. For all any of them knew, Brent might have reconciled with his wife and might, even now, be fast asleep in their marriage bed. That thought sickened him almost as much as the thought of Brent being in danger. He didn't want to lose Brent... not to Grazer, and not to Marge Marken either.

They crept towards the house and checked the inside of Deputy Hunsan's patrol car, but it was empty. Martin's foot slipped on something on the path and he crouched down, dragging one finger through the mess and sniffing it. His eyes snapped back to where Jack waited under cover of the house next door. Carefully, he stepped up to the door and looked through the glass panel, his mouth forming a grim line as he spied the dark silhouette of a body lying on the hall carpet.

Although every instinct screamed at him to rush in and check if the body was Brent, Martin stepped away and swiftly reported back to Jack.

"There's blood on the path, and a body lying in the hallway just inside the door."

"Any interior lights."

"One... seems to be filtering up from the basement."

"Deputy Mina, have you ever been inside this house?"

Mina looked at Jack with eyes filled with shock, and Martin understood why. There was a body lying just inside that door, and the odds were high that it would be one of her work colleagues: Hunsan or Brent.

"Deputy Mina?"

She shook herself out of her shock. "Once... or twice."

"Is there a second entrance to the basement?"

"No. Just the one through the house. All these houses were built to the same blueprint. There are shallow windows round back to let in natural light...but they're not wide enough for anyone but a small child to crawl through."

Jack pulled out his cellphone and called McGraw, his calm expression belying his impatience as his fingers tapped against his side.

"Sir, we believe we've found Grazer... Sheriff Marken's residence. Initial reconnaissance has revealed a possible homicide. Yes, sir." He ended the call and stared at Martin. "Now we wait for back-up."

-ooOOoo-

27 minutes earlier Marken Residence

"Where is Loralee?"

Grazer took his eyes off the girl and stared menacingly at her father. Marken could not tear his eyes away from the body of his wife and Grazer could tell that, for all her faults, Marken had loved her on some level. Perhaps not the way she deserved to be love but they had shared too many years of their lives to not have some feelings left between them. He looked back at the girl.

Jody Marken was sobbing harshly against her gag, with tears rolling down across the duct tape to gather then drip from her chin. The gun did not waver in his steady hand, with its barrel pointed straight at her forehead, and Grazer smirked at how easy it had been to snatch her from the watchful eye of the NYPD...

-ooOOoo-

Grazer watched as the bored police officer shifted restlessly beside the small, dark-haired Marken girl. He glanced down at his wristwatch and smiled sardonically; only a few minutes to wait and then the flight would be called.

With long strides, he moved swiftly to the place along the access corridor that he had selected earlier, and he waited.

Carefully, he poured a generous amount of chloroform onto the thick wad of cloth and then used a small mirror on a stick to watch for her from behind the safety of the access door. He took a deep breath as the first of the very few passengers ambled past, waiting impatiently for Jody Marken to pick up her flight bag and follow them. He dropped the mirror into the small trolley behind him when he saw her small figure approaching. As she walked by the access door, he grabbed for her, with one hand around her tiny waist and the other clamped over her mouth. She struggled violently in his grip but the chloroform acted swiftly, robbing her of consciousness, and once he was convinced that she was out cold, he dumped her body inside the trolley and covered her with packing material.

No one questioned him as he wheeled the trolley out onto the airfield to the waiting Wright Transportations truck, anyone seeing him would merely assume that he was working there legitimately. Having loaded the trolley and unconscious girl onto the truck, Grazer slowly departed, returning to the Wright Transportation hangar. Once he felt it was safe, he ensured that the girl was securely tied and gagged. Within fifteen minutes he was driving away from Newark, ostensibly heading towards Wright Transportations main office at JFK but, as they were working with minimum staff since Adnam-White started his takeover bid, he knew no one would notice if he took a little detour along the way.

-ooOOoo-

"Why?" Brent asked hoarsely, drawing Grazer back from his pleasurable thoughts.

Grazer heard the pain in Marken's voice and felt a moment of triumph, enjoying the mental anguish inflicted as much as the physical violence. He let the gun drop away as he turned to Marken.

"Thought you'd be pleased to see her gone," Grazer sneered. "After all, won't be any messy divorce now. No fighting over who gets to keep the kid, or who gets the car and house. No alimony to pay as she tries to suck every last cent out of you and, best of all, no endless years of arguing over what's best for the kid."

Grazer could see stunned confusion filling Marken's eyes, and his sneer fell away.

"Okay, so you want the truth? Well, truth is, she meant less to you than the girl." Grazer leaned forward until he was right in Marken's face. "She was your only warning. Next time you fuck with me, I kill your daughter."

He pulled back and walked away, returning with another seat, which he placed directly in front of Marken. He smiled maliciously as Marken raised his eyes in renewed defiance now the initial shock of his seeing his wife killed had worn off.

"You know... this all should have been so easy... but Wright had to go hire them amateur, wanna-be hitmen rather than just let me carry on doing my job."

"Doing your job?" Marken looked both horrified and bewildered.

"Protecting Wright Transportations, of course."

Grazer leaned back in his seat, newly aware that he had a captive audience to gloat to; an audience that would not live long enough to repeat anything he told them.

"When Wright told me he had this problem with Adnam-White, I was all for arranging a little accident to befall him. Would have solved a lot of things quick and easy, but then that bitch Sisler phoned, and Wright put it on the speaker so we could all discuss it."

Grazer gave a mocking laugh.

"Heard all about you... *Bren*. How the bitch's husband and your so-called friends figured you needed to prove you liked the girls more than the boys, for their reputations as well as yours." He looked down at Marge. "They got you all tanked up and then sent you over to poor Marge here. When that didn't work out they went trawling for a hooker..." He raised his eyes back to Marken, "...and found Loralee."

"Problem is, all that talk of sex got them boys all hot and wanting... so they figured they'd slick the way for you. Had her twice over... but she couldn't get a rise out of you."

"You killed Greg Marliston."

Grazer smiled. "That stupid girl told him where to find me. He came into the office bristling with anger, demanding to know where his wife was. Trouble was, she disappeared soon after her son went on his killing spree, and I didn't have the time to go hunt her down -- which is why I got that stupid cow to dress up. Figured all Adnam-White needed was some snaps of you looking like you was meeting with Loralee to convince him that old skeleton was out of the closet and jangling its chains."

Grazer fell silent as he recalled the abusive man who'd set his temper swinging wild. He had not meant to hit out, but then the guy started shouting about calling in the cops for assault. Grazer had already spent enough time paying for the last time someone charged him with assault. So Greg Marliston went on an unexpected journey to Hong Kong, tied to the undercarriage in such a way that his frozen corpse would fall into the vastness of the South China Sea as soon as the landing gear was lowered on approach to Hong Kong's airport.

"He told me enough about Loralee before I got rid of him. Left me with a pile of these letters proclaiming her undying love... for you. Figured I put the man out of his misery by killing him. Least he isn't pining away for her no more."

Grazer laughed. "Talk about unrequited love. Him in love with her, Loralee in love with you... and you? Hell, you probably would have preferred to fuck him than her."

Grazer laughed harder when he saw the dismayed look Marken sent towards his daughter, aware of the rude awakening for Jody Marken over these past weeks. First her father is connected with an old rape charge, then he's beaten and almost axed to death by a man who might have been his son, conceived out of that rape. Later he's abducted, and then it turns out he's probably got one other skeleton in the closet that she hadn't known about until now --the possibility that his sexual preference is for the same gender.

He turned to Jody, hiccuping as he tried to draw in breath around his derisive laughter. "Did... did your old man tell you he was gay?"

The look of disbelief on her face sent Grazer into a renewed paroxysm of laughter especially when her dark eyes sought out her father's, desperate to know if it was true, and found no denial there.

"I'm so sorry," Marken said softly to his daughter.

"I'm so sorry," Grazer mimicked. "Now where have I heard that phrase before?"

He launched into a diatribe about unfaithful wives, ranting about kids who showed him no respect and the number of times he had heard those same words as he tried to rebuild his life after being charged and sentenced for assault. Grazer lost track of time as he blamed everyone and everything -- except himself --for the mess of his life. He stopped partway through the almost one-sided conversation, realizing that Marken had, somehow, manipulated him into wasting valuable time. With hard, cold eyes, he stared at Marken.

"Time's up." He raised the gun and aimed it directly at Jody Marken once more. "Where's Loralee?"

Marken swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving Grazer's, but Grazer caught a flicker of movement in Jody's and he whipped round just as the words, "Freeze, FBI," echoed around the basement.

-ooOOoo-

Martin saw the gun swing back around towards Brent. His gun jumped in his hand as his finger pulled the trigger, sending a bullet flying towards Arnold Grazer, the retort almost drowning the muffled sound of the silenced gun firing. Martin's second shot followed quickly, with both bullets finding their target. Grazer's body crumpled, his gun clattering to the basement floor and it took every ounce of willpower for Martin to keep his eyes and gun trained on Grazer while Jack sidled past to check the killer's condition.

Only after Jack had pronounced Grazer dead did Martin rush down the few remaining steps to where Brent hung from his bonds. He reached out two fingers, seeking the pulse point on the throat, and he gave a ragged sigh of relief when he found it. Gently pulling back Brent's head, Martin checked the furrow from the bullet that had creased his scalp, all too aware of how close he had come to seeing Brent killed right before his eyes. Just a fraction of an inch to the right and the bullet would have shattered Brent's skull.

Martin was barely aware of Jack calling for paramedics before releasing Jody from her restraints, and he did not notice the sudden influx of other FBI agents until Danzig was standing over him, slicing through the duct tape while Martin supported Brent's head against his shoulder. Very gently, they laid Brent on the floor, and when Martin glanced up he noticed Jody buried against Jack's chest as he kept her at a distance, refusing to allow her to go to either of her parents.

Martin looked over to where Marge Marken sat with her head thrown back. The splatters of blood and brains told its gruesome story, and a quick head shake from Carter confirmed the worst. McGraw stood at the bottom of the basement stairs, with his lips drawn into a thin line, but he moved aside when the paramedics arrived, allowing them access to survivors. Martin knew the drill. He shuffled back to give them space to work, answering any questions they posed concerning the old injuries as well as these new ones. Part of him wanted to follow then Paramedics to the hospital but he had a duty to perform as an FBI agent. He had fired his gun --twice -- with fatal results, and McGraw would need to hear the full series of events so he could determine that there had been no other choice.

Instead, Martin stood aside as they loaded Brent onto a stretcher and carried him away. Sam led Jody away, and Martin felt a moment of envy on hearing her instructions from Jack. She had been assigned the task of escorting the Markens to the hospital and staying with them until both could be questioned.

Martin sighed and looked around the basement at the two remaining bodies, knowing that he had ended the life of one of those people. The thought caught him unawares, his stomach rebelling, and he barely made it to the corner of the room before he threw up. The adrenaline rush, and the sudden shock, had left him pale and shaken. With trembling hands he accepted the handkerchief that Jack pressed into his hand and wiped it across his mouth.

"Sorry," he uttered hoarsely but Jack remained silent, laying his hand on Martin's shoulder in reassurance instead. Martin could feel the weight and warmth of his hand, and he was grateful for it, needing an anchor while his emotions raged. Additional pressure brought him round, and he kept pace with Jack as they moved back to where the bodies were being photographed prior to being bagged. McGraw approached, drawing them both aside, and Martin could only listen while Jack related his account of the operation.

-ooOOoo-

Twenty minutes earlier:

Jack watched as Sam slithered across the damp grass towards the small window that looked down into the basement area. She had draw her hair back into a tight bun, tucking the blonde strands inside her dark helmet in case her hair shone in the starlight, alerting whoever was in the basement.

Although he had said nothing to Martin, Jack knew he could not rule out the possibility that Brent Marken had shot and killed Deputy Hunsan, with an intention of also killing his wife. She spoke softly into the cellphone when she reached a decent vantage point, warning Jack of her intention to peer inside so he could be prepared. Her only purpose in this was reconnaissance, gaining an approximate location of any potential hostiles to reduce the chance of an FBI agent being killed during the assault.

In the meantime, he and Martin remained close to the front door of the property, awaiting the back-up Jack had requested from McGraw and his men. He indicated to Martin to try the door, holding his breath as Martin pressed against it. It moved easily, and Jack realized that the door had been left unlocked. He watched as Martin pushed it open a fraction more and crawled forward a few feet so that he could reach for a pulse point on the body lying in the hallway.

Martin crawled back out and Jack felt his cellphone vibrate in his hand as Martin called him. He listened carefully to the softly spoken words.

"It's the deputy. He's dead."

Jack speed dialed Sam and talked quietly to her. "Can you see anything?"

"Three hostages, one gunman. I can't quite make out... It's Grazer. The hostages are seated, bound with what looks like duct tape and... Oh God! I think Mrs. Marken's dead."

"Can you get an angle on Grazer?"

"I can see him, but I won't be able to take a shot. All the windows have security mesh. Jack, Grazer's ranting on about something, I don't think we have time to wait for back-up."

"Damn. Keep this line open. Martin and I are going in as quietly as possible. Deputy Mina will wait here for McGraw."

Jack slid inside the house and stopped behind Martin. He indicated towards the basement where the sound of Grazer's muffled voice drifted up. Silently, they edged towards the stairs with Jack remaining several steps behind Martin. He watched anxiously as the younger agent slowly stepped down, with gun held ready. They were halfway down and still in the deep shadows when Grazer stopped his ranting and turned the gun on Jody Marken.

"Time's up. Where's Loralee?"

From where he stood, Jack could see the splatters of blood and the shattered skull of Marge Marken. There was no doubt in his mind that Grazer would follow through on the threat to Jody Marken. His angle on Grazer was not good enough, but Jack knew Martin had a far easier shot, and so he yelled, alerting both everyone of his presence but something must have alerted Grazer for his head was whipping around even as Jack yelled, "Freeze, FBI."

If Grazer had done as ordered; if he had frozen, or dropped the gun, then it would have all ended there, but the man jerked back towards his main target, Brent Marken, and the sound of three shots echoed around the basement. The silencer on Grazer's gun muffled one, but the other two rang in Jack's ears from close proximity. Grazer had been killed wit the first shot, but a spasm had triggered the gun he held, and Jack could only look on in horror as Brent Marken's head snapped sideways. The second shot from Martin's gun was almost unnecessary as Grazer fell to the floor.

Jack had to admire Martin's sense of duty as the younger agent held his emotions in check, waiting until Jack had pronounced Grazer no longer a threat before turning his attention to the man he had come to love in such a short space of time. As Jack tended to Jody Marken, he watched as Martin checked her father, closing his eyes momentarily in relief that Martin had found a pulse.

-ooOOoo-

McGraw accepted Jack's statement of events without contention as he had already spoken to Agent Samantha Spade, and her version matched Jack's down to the finest detail. McGraw reached out and laid his hand on Agent Martin Fitzgerald's shoulder. He had seen the younger agent physically sickened by what he'd had to do, and he could sympathize. He'd felt the same way the first time that he had been forced to kill in order to protect fellow agents and innocent hostages.

He made a silent note to request a commendation for Jack and his team, and then he gave a crooked smile.

When he first learned that Martin Fitzgerald, the son of Deputy Director Fitzgerald, was being assigned to his area, he'd had grave misgivings. He thought the younger Fitzgerald was probably just using Jack's team as a fast track to promotion to the higher echelon of the FBI, following in his father's footsteps, but it had become apparent very quickly that the 'boy' had genuine love for the investigation work.

And now he had demonstrated that he was a more than adequate field agent too. McGraw felt a moment of regret that he had not taken the gamble and placed Martin Fitzgerald onto one of his homicide teams. Of course, he could reassign him but McGraw had a feeling that Martin would prefer to stay with the Missing Persons Unit, having seen the working relationship between the individual team members. Judging from the reports that crossed his desk, Martin had filled the niche of computer expert perfectly, and had been instrumental in the successful conclusion of several cases, including locating a pedophile using the internet to ensnare a young boy by pretending to be the boy's biological father.

Judging by Jack's protective stance towards his newest recruit, Jack agreed with McGraw's mental assessment and would object to losing him from his team.

A shame, he thought but then, any one of Jack's team would be an asset within Homicide and yet McGraw could not see any of them jumping ship.

He dismissed both agents, telling them to go to the hotel and clean up. He waited until they had left the basement before pulling out his cellphone and calling Deputy Director Fitzgerald.

"Sir, sorry to wake you but you wish to be kept informed of any developments in the Marliston/Marken case. Fifteen minutes ago, Arnold Grazer was taken out by an agent during a hostage situation. One hostage was already dead at the scene, and the remaining two hostages have been taken to Cherry Falls Hospital for treatment."

"Any of our people hurt?"

"No... but Cherry Falls Deputy Hunsan was shot and killed, and Sheriff Marken received a gunshot wound to the head."

"Marken? What was he doing there? No... don't try to explain. Send me a report immediately."

"Sir, there was one other successful outcome of this night. Jody Marken, Missing Persons case 11343, was one of the hostages. She's being treated for shock but, otherwise, she looks fine."

"Has the Missing Persons Unit been informed?

"Jack Malone's team were the ones who discovered the hostage situation and handled it." he paused, taking a deep breath. "Sir, your son was the agent who shot and killed Grazer."

"Martin?"

McGraw remained silent. He knew the Deputy Director did not require an answer to that, and moments later, Fitzgerald spoke again.

"Keep everyone there. I should be in Cherry Falls within two hours."

McGraw ended the call and tucked the phone back inside his jacket pocket. He shook his head slowly as he watched his people taking photographs of the scene, paying particular attention to the bodies of Grazer and Marge Marken. The Bureau's crime scene investigators would be arriving imminently to gather any remaining forensic evidence such as bullet casings. However, as always in these situations, the needs of any survivors had been paramount and so the crime scene had not been maintained in pristine condition. Paramedics and their paraphernalia had been required to see to Sheriff Marken's injuries, and other agents had needed to free and then comfort Jody Marken.

Still, McGraw had no doubts to the veracity of Jack Malone's statement so, in this particular case, he had no grave concerns -- other than knowing Deputy Director Fitzgerald was on his way.

-ooOOoo-

Brent awoke in surroundings that had become all too familiar over the past few weeks. He peered out through slitted eyes and groaned as even the feeble night-light stabbed into him. He felt as if someone was working a jack-hammer inside his skull, and he tried to raise his left hand to locate the outward source of the pain before realizing that it had not all been a bad dream. His left arm was still strapped down to avoid any further muscle damage while his earlier injuries from Leonard Marliston healed.

He caught slight movement from his right just before he squeezed his eyes shut, so he opened them wide, grimacing at the pain from the light.

"Daddy?"

"Jody?" Brent laughed in relief as her arms wrapped inelegantly about him, feeling her soft cheek against his before she burrowed her head against his good shoulder. He raised his right hand to stroke through her hair.

"You okay?"

Jody nodded and muffled some words into his shoulder. He felt the wetness of fresh, warm tears seep through the thin cotton hospital gown to the flesh beneath but none of that mattered. Jody was here... and safe.

A thought slid almost within reach and then melted away before he could capture it. Brent frowned and reached again for that elusive thought. Marge? He gasped as the memory returned, dislodging Jody from against his shoulder as, mixed in with this thought was a memory of Martin. Brent tried to focus on the memory, desperately wanting to know if Martin was all right even as his imagination supplied him with a nightmare vision of Martin's head snapping back as a bullet passed through his forehead to explode out the back of his head.

"No!"

"Daddy?"

"Martin? Is Martin..?"

"Hey."

Brent's vision swam as he whipped his head round at the familiar low, gravely voice; relief flooded through him even as he started to grieve for Marge.

"I thought you..."

Martin grinned. "You trying to get rid of me already?" He said, but the smile took the sting out of his words.

Brent gave a smile in return, but then it faltered as he recalled their silent witness. He turned to Jody and saw the look of fear and confusion on her pretty face. Brent closed his eyes in anger at his thoughtlessness. Her mother had been brutally slain only a matter of hours earlier and here he was sharing an almost intimate moment with another man; a moment she would recognize as such after hearing Grazer's shocking revelation of her father's sexual preference.

A gentle hand touched his. "It's okay, dad. I mean it. It's okay."

It hurt Brent to look into her eyes, for these past weeks had wiped out the innocence that he used to see reflected back at him. Her childhood had ended more painfully than anyone could have imagined, torn away in blood and by the lies uncovered. There was a maturity in her dark eyes now and Brent felt humbled by her resilience where most others -- child or adult -- would have been completely traumatized.

"I'm going to check on Kenny. He's only two doors along from here so..." She turned to Martin. "It was nice meeting you again, Agent Fitzgerald."

She gave Martin the oddest stare, as if sizing him up in a far more personal way than the way she had the first time they met. Then it had been a young girl's interest in a man, now it was something far different, as if she was measuring him to some standard.

Martin flushed slightly red when the pieces clicked into place. She had been sizing Martin up, the same way he would have sized up any boyfriend's she brought home. She had been judging Martin, to see if he was worthy of her being with her father.

"She knows, doesn't she?"

"Grazer told her about me... and I think I just told her about you without even saying a word."

"She going to handle it?"

"I don't know." Brent shook his head. "At this moment? Yeah... she's handling it... but tomorrow, or the next day, or even next week... something might break." He sighed heavily. "She's just a kid. None of this... this..." He shook his head again, at loss for words but Martin understood.

"I know. She didn't deserve any of this."

Martin reached out and interlaced his fingers with Brent's, slowly taking the seat beside the bed.

"Grazer said Wright hired the hitman at the hospital."

"I know. Your daughter gave a statement to McGraw and Jack Malone... but unless we catch one of those men then I doubt we could make it stick. Not enough evidence. And nothing more than hearsay to connect Adnam-White. They're both gonna get away with this."

"Yeah... figured that much myself."

Brent stared up at Martin, almost drowning in the pools of his blue eyes. A familiar heat radiated through him, along with the urge to consummate this incredible feeling with more than just holding hands.

With his mouth feeling drier than a desert, Brent broke eye contact, hoping also to break this spell of desire under which he had fallen the moment he set eyes on Martin once more. His thoughts returned, instead, to their agreement to wait until this case was over before taking their relationship another step forward... but Brent had sudden doubts that he might ever be free to take those steps forward.

His whole adult life had been like a rollercoaster ride without a safety bar. First the long slow haul to the very top of the ride, and then Leonard Marliston had tipped everything over the edge, sending his life into free fall. Twists and rolls at breakneck speed, throwing him from side to side while he held on white-knuckled, still not knowing if the ride would ever come to a safe end... or if the car would jump the rails and send him plunging to his death.

He thought about all those harrowing curves in the track. First the glint of the axe falling, the angry mob outside of the hospital, and the end of his marriage. He thought of all the emotions accompanying this ride. His fear for his daughter, fear for himself and then both fear and desire for this stranger who had become so important to him in such a short space of time.

So much had happened in just a few weeks, and yet the ride still went on, banking around another curve, racing up the next rise in the track with no guarantee of what he would face on the other side; a gentle slope or a terrifying drop.

All Brent could do was tighten his grip upon the fragile handhold he had found in Martin Fitzgerald as he thought about the most disconcerting aspect of this entire case: the death of Loralee within his house.

McGraw and Jack Malone had allowed him to sit in on the meeting and hear all the evidence so far collected, trusting in his integrity as a Sheriff not to use that information unwisely. Their main suspect had been Marge, even though all the evidence was circumstantial, but she could no longer be questioned... and that left only Jody.

Jody had found the courage to 'kill' the son, so could she also have killed the mother?

Brent groaned softly, not wanting to dwell on the possibility that Jody had been the one to murder Loralee. Secretly, he hoped that they would find something -- anything -- which would point the finger of guilt at Marge rather than at Jody.

"You okay?"

"No. No, I'm not okay. And I wonder if I'll ever be okay again."

Martin squeezed his fingers tighter, remaining silent, and offering comfort and reassurance through touch alone. However, his hand dropped away quickly when someone entered the room, and Brent looked beyond Martin to another familiar face, that of his sister's.

"Ginny?"

"Hey."

Martin rose from the seat and stepped aside, allowing her to take his place. She reached out and clasped his hand in both of hers.

"How's my baby brother?"

"How did you get here?"

She smiled. "Frank was good for something after all. His new business partner owns a plane."

Brent laughed softly, recalling his sister's ex-husband, Frank Allen, and their messy divorce several years back. Ginny had come to stay with him and Marge for a few weeks following Frank's admission of having a string of affairs, desperate to get away from New York so she could clear her thoughts and make a decision over her floundering marriage. At least there had been no kids, Brent thought, unlike with his marriage.

Ginny and Marge had always been friends despite the age gap, but they had become even closer during that time, spending hours talking together. So it had not come as too great a shock that day he left the hospital to learn that Marge and Ginny had made all the arrangements between them for him to go to stay with his sister in New York.

"Oh Bren," she gazed around the hospital room, "I never expected to be back here so soon."

"So soon?"

Her eyes widened in realization of her words, and then shuttered immediately, leaving Brent with a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach as hazy memories started to clamor for attention.

-ooOOoo-

8 a.m. Conference Room Sheriff's Office, Cherry Falls

Jack sat down slowly and sipped at the coffee so thoughtfully provided by Deputy Mina's people. At the far end of the table, Deputy Director Fitzgerald was questioning Tony McGraw over the findings so far in the Loralee Marliston murder investigation. However, Jack knew it was only a matter of time before Fitzgerald turned to him concerning last night's events.

During the flight from Washington DC, Fitzgerald would have read his, Martin and Samantha's reports as well as the preliminary reports from Forensics, the Paramedics and McGraw's people, plus a statement from Jody Marken. Even though all of these reports concurred with the sequence of events, Jack knew that he would be getting a mild reprimand when Fitzgerald learned that his son had gone to see Brent Marken before Marken's statement had been taken. However, Jack had no doubts in his mind that Martin had acted strictly according to FBI protocol. The gunshot wounding to Brent Marken proved that Grazer had been intent on killing at least one more of his hostages as soon as he learned of the FBI presence, so there would be no reason for Martin and Brent to even consider synchronizing their versions of what happened.

Jody's statement had covered everything from the time she left Officer Hillman in the Newark Airport lounge until the moment her ordeal at Grazer's hands came to a climatic end. She recalled how someone had grabbed her as she walked through the corridor to the plane, and how she had awoken in darkness with her hands and feet bound and her eyes and mouth covered.

The girl had been weak from hunger and thirst by the time she was rescued, for Grazer had kept the gag in place throughout her ordeal. Jack saw the irony in that for Jody was one of the few people who knew that the Jane Doe pulled out of the lake was the very person Grazer had been searching for: Loralee Marliston.

Jack had been present when Jody told McGraw's agent how Grazer had admitted to killing Greg Marliston, and that he blamed someone called Wright for organizing the hit on her father while he was in the hospital. However, while they could prove Grazer had killed Greg Marliston -- even without his confession to the Markens -- they could find no solid evidence to implicate Wright and Carolyn Sisler. It left Brent Marken in an unenviable position, for if Adnam-White's conditions for keeping his business with Wright Transportations hinged on Marken's permanent disposal, then the man's life remained in danger despite Grazer's death.

Jack's thoughts turned back to the other part of this case as he watched McGraw lay out several documents containing Forensic data collected from the Markens' bathroom. They had uncovered no DNA that could not be accounted for under perfectly legitimate circumstances, which left just the same two main suspects: Jody Marken and her deceased mother, Marge. So, unless Jody confessed to the murder, or they found irrefutable evidence that she had been the killer, then there was not enough evidence to place guilt on either her or her mother. So the murder would have to remain unsolved.

"We still don't know how the body was transported from the Marken residence to the lake."

"The station wagon was clean... in the sense that it had no DNA matching Loralee Marliston inside it."

"What about the Sheriff's patrol car? Was that checked?"

"We considered that Mrs. Marken may have had access to that vehicle but no traces of blood were found in the trunk. There were small traces in the back seat from a dozen different sources... but that's just what you'd expect to find in the back of a police vehicle ferrying perps to the cells." McGraw looked directly at Fitzgerald. "None of it matched our victim."

"Any tire tracks at the lake?"

"Forensics combed both sides of the lake but couldn't locate an entry point. Two weeks of rain would have washed away any traces of a vehicle or footprints. That's why they had so much trouble catching Leonard Marliston when he murdered those two kids by the lake. The overnight rain washed away all the evidence."

"Well, they couldn't have wheeled her there in a barrow," responded Fitzgerald dryly.

A thought popped into Jack's head. He had been so wrapped up in first Brent and then Jody's disappearances that the relevance had not struck him until now. He spoke up.

"There is one thing. When we were checking the passenger manifest for the days just prior to, and then for the two weeks following the serial killings, we came up with one other name that might be relevant." He paused. "Virginia Allen took the last flight back to JFK on the night following her brother's wounding by Leonard Marliston."

"That's the same night we believe Loralee Marliston was murdered. We saw her name on the list too. However, we dismissed her as a possible suspect as that flight goes at 10:30 and it takes at least an hour to reach the airport from here. She would have had to set out before 9:30 to make that flight," replied McGraw, looking unconvinced at the possibility that Virginia Allen might have had time and opportunity to kill Loralee Marliston.

Danzig's words seem to confirm McGraw's misgivings. "Coroner places time of death between 09:30 and 01:00 the following morning. Too much decomposition to get a closer approximation."

Jack smiled softly, already knowing the answer to the question he posed next. "What if the Coroner's estimate is out by an hour?" He could see the thought churning through those present. "And how would she have traveled to and from the airport?"

"Rental," exclaimed Sam. "She would have hired a rental at the airport, and returned it that evening."

"One thing though," came Danzig's reply. "We didn't find any of her DNA at the scene."

Jack nodded his agreement. "True, but Marge Marken is a Police officer's wife and must know a little about Forensics. She might have 'borrowed' the rental to dispose of the body."

Sam added, "Anonymous vehicle. Not left near the scene of the crime, and not abandoned either. Just cleaned up to remove any trace of dirt and blood, and then taken back for the next customer."

"Hidden in plain sight." McGraw shook his head and turned to Danzig. "Get on it. Find out what car she rented that trip and get Forensics to check it out."

With a possible new lead in the Loralee murder case, Fitzgerald decided to turn their discussion to the events that concerned him the most: the shooting of Arnold Grazer.

"Where's my s..? Where's Agent Fitzgerald? I expected to see him at this debriefing."

"He's at the hospital obtaining a statement from Sheriff Marken." Jack kept his face expressionless.

"FBI policy is to suspend from du--"

"Agent Fitzgerald has formed a... good relationship with Sheriff Marken. That works to our advantage as Marken seems to hold a lot more answers than even he realizes. Martin seems to have a talent for drawing that information out of him."

Jack could tell that his answer annoyed the Deputy Director, though he had a strong feeling that this annoyance sprang more from Fitzgerald not being able to see his son rather than this slight breach of protocol. Despite all his seeming indifference towards Martin, Jack could see the concern in the man's eyes. Martin was his son -- his little boy -- and Fitzgerald wanted to make sure he was okay even though he would never ask Martin outright or even show any outward sign of affection towards him while he did so.

Jack sighed. Fathers and sons. He'd seen this same scenario played out a hundred times, and had witnessed it first hand through his relationship with his own father. They had rarely seen eye to eye, leaving it until too late to acknowledge that there was a loving reason for the disapproval lying between them. Jack could only hope that *this* father and son would work it out before it was too late for them, though he had a feeling that Martin's growing relationship with Brent Marken would be the crisis point. Learning of his son's homosexuality could divide them forever, depending on how Fitzgerald took the news -- and how Martin delivered it.

Regardless of what happened, Jack knew he would stand by Martin even if Fitzgerald turned away or disowned his son.

The debriefing seemed to be drawing to a close, and seeing Fitzgerald look at his wristwatch confirmed his thoughts. Fitzgerald began to neatly pile the documents in front of him, and then he stood up.

"I need to return to Washington. I assume I don't have to spell it out that talking to the Media at this time should be handled with the utmost delicacy. For that reason, I want all Media contact to come through my office. A statement will be issued shortly." His eyes checked around the room. "Any other business?"

His question was met with a chorus of 'No, Sir', so Fitzgerald headed towards the door with his subordinates rising to their feet out of deference to his rank. He stopped beside Jack and leaned in close enough so his words would not be overheard.

"I assume my son is fine."

"A little shock, but... he seems to be fine. I'll arrange for him to have psyche evaluation once we get back to New York."

"I expect to see the report."

Jack nodded, biting his lower lip to stop the thought that almost spilled from him, that a phone call to his son would not go amiss, and would show a lot more caring than waiting for another third-party report. However, the opportunity to say what was on his mind disappeared as Fitzgerald headed down the hallway at a brisk pace.

Jack looked back and caught Sam staring at him, and he acknowledged her concern with the tiniest shake of his head. The rest of the conference room was now empty apart from him, Sam and Deputy Mina. The other agents had quickly gathered their papers, intent on tracking down the rental Virginia Allen would have used on her visit.

"It's a little suspicious," said Sam, "that Virginia Allen would travel here on the day her brother is injured and yet leave the very same night, before he regained consciousness."

"I know." Jack sighed, "But that's no longer our concern. Our missing person's case is solved, so I suggest we sort out transportation back to New York."

-ooOOoo-

Same time Cherry Falls Hospital

Virginia stared at her brother, seeing the growing fear that crossed his face following her slip. She had not meant to let him know that she had taken the first available flight upon hearing of her brother's injuries at Leonard Marliston's hand. Her thoughts traveled back to that day as she explained what had happened...

-ooOOoo-

When she arrived at Cherry Falls she learned that Brent had survived the eight hours of emergency surgery needed to repair the damage to his body. The nurse insisted that Virginia needed to speak with the Chief Surgeon, Doctor Reynolds, before she was allowed to see Brent, but she would have to wait until he had finished his rounds.

An hour passed by slowly, and when he did arrive, Virginia thought he looked as if he had just come out of the shower rather than being worn and harassed as she expected. She banked her temper at being kept from her brother's side and waited to hear what the Doctor had to say.

"You're his elder sister, and I see from the records that he named you next of kin?" His voice held the slight lilt of a questioning tone.

"His wife drinks... I don't think he trusts her judgment."

The Doctor nodded sagely. "Well, I need to explain some of the decisions made for his care. Your brother was attacked with an axe, and if he had not used the metal frame of the mirror for protection then I don't need to explain what the outcome of that attack would have been. The frame saved his life, taking the brunt of the blows, but there was still enough force to fracture bone and cut deep into the surrounding tissue. One blow broke his collarbone; the second partially-severed an artery and broke his left arm -- the humerus. Fortunately someone applied pressure to the wound until the Paramedics arrived... otherwise he would have bled out by the time they reached him."

He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, showing Virginia exactly how fatigued he was at that moment, and then she realized that he had probably not rested since starting the surgery on Brent almost ten hours earlier. From the morning newspaper that she had picked up at the airport, Brent had not been the only person injured by Leonard Marliston last night. The madman had cut a path through the kids at the 'cherry popping' party --quite literally -- before stabbing Jody's boyfriend, Kenny, and then attacking Jody.

As the Cherry Falls hospital was relatively small, some of these injuries had been med-evac'ed to other hospitals in the area leaving Reynolds to handle the emergency surgery on Brent. Even so, as Chief Surgeon, he would have spent the past hour checking over the work carried out upon the other victims.

She focused back on him as he continued.

"In layman's terms, we repaired the damaged artery directly and set the humerus break with pins but, due to the nature of his injuries, we made a decision not to immobilize the arm and collar bone in a plaster cast. Instead the breaks have been immobilized by strapping. It's not as secure as a cast but it will allow us to visibly inspect his arm on a daily basis."

Doctor Reynolds smiled wanly. "We'll be keeping your brother heavily sedated for the first few days... so that will restrict any movement."

Virginia nodded. "Will his arm be all right?"

"If all goes well then I expect him to regain at least 90 percent mobility... and probably more eventually, but it is too soon to tell. Once the fracture has healed then we can start physical therapy."

"Can I see him now?"

"Technically, he cannot have visitors for another six hours, but you can see him through the observation window if you so wish."

"Thank you."

She followed the Doctor into the ICU towards one of the rooms, and he indicated the window to her. As she looked through the observation window into the pristine room, she could not help a moment of panic as she saw the tubes, wires and equipment that seemed to dwarf the man lying in the bed. Brent was not a small man; he was six feet tall and broader than his lean frame implied, and yet he looked like a child amid all the medical paraphernalia. The doctor laid a reassuring hand on her arm.

"It looks a little overwhelming but it's all essential right now. Brent lost a lot of blood and his blood pressure is still far lower than we'd like to see right now. The equipment's there to warn us if it drops any further... and in case the artery repair doesn't hold." The Doctor turned to her. "I need to warn you that these next six hours are crucial. If his blood pressure holds steady or improves then the chances of complications are substantially reduced, along with the need to undergo further surgery."

The Doctor waited by her side for a moment longer, and then he excused himself, citing other patients to be seen to. Virginia offered her thanks and then turned back to stare through the window at Brent. After a while, she pulled up a seat and sat down, letting her mind drift back through the years, to the evening when this nightmare began.

A hand placed on her shoulder caused her to jump in surprise, and she turned quickly, sighing in relief and pleasure as Jody pulled up another seat beside her.

"How long have you been here?" Asked Jody.

"A few hours. I called the house when I reached the hospital but..." Virginia shook her head.

"Mom's still trying to come to terms with what's happened."

Virginia nodded, understanding the underlying words that implied that Marge had taken to the bottle to avoid dealing with the issues.

"How are you? Did he hurt you?"

"A little... but I'm okay." Jody looked along the corridor. "They wouldn't let me see dad until now, so I've been with Kenny." Her eyes narrowed questioningly. "How long can you stay?"

"I've got a share holder meeting in New York tomorrow morning." She gave a resigned look. "Too many people attending to just cancel it. I've booked a seat on the 10:30 flight to JFK." She glanced at her watch. "That's still a while off and the Doctor hopes to have better news on your father before then."

They sat in silence, staring through the large window, and watching the flashing LED lights and the regular wave crossing the small monitor. Brent's face looked waxen beneath the bandage covering the head wound Marliston had inflicted on him when he kidnapped him from Sisler's office. His sweat-darkened eyelashes flickered against the sooty circles beneath his eyes, and Virginia wondered if you dreamed while under sedation.

Virginia held Jody's hand in both of hers and, together, they allowed another hour to pass in silence. Her stomach rumbled unexpectedly, and Virginia realized that she had not eaten since earlier that morning, and she wondered if Jody had eaten anything either.

"You hungry?" She asked the girl seated quietly beside her.

Jody looked at her in shock. "Actually, I'm starving," she said in a surprised voice, as if only just realizing that she needed to eat. "You know, there's supposed to be a restaurant downstairs."

"Well, it's going to be at least another hour before they will give us an update on your dad's condition, so let's go find it."

They spent the next hour in the restaurant, mostly talking as Virginia explained all about the terrible event in Brent's past that had led up to this tragedy. She wanted Jody to know that her father had not truly been at fault, and that he had paid for any part he had played in the whole sordid affair ten times over. It felt strangely cathartic to talk about Loralee Sherman, and the boys who had ruined so many lives in one despicable act.

At one point, Virginia tried to reach Marge but there was still no answer. She resigned herself to not having the opportunity to see her friend this time around... unless she passed by the Marken house before heading out to the airport.

By the time they made their way back towards the ICU it was after 9:00 p.m. The late fall evening had drawn in fast, leaving the ICU in dimmed lighting. Shadows collected around the windows lining the corridor, with the rooms only barely brighter. Jody kissed her aunt goodbye and turned towards the left-hand corridor, wanting to check on Kenny but mostly wanting to allow her Aunt Virginia a moment alone with her brother.

As Virginia approached the room where Brent lay she saw a flicker of movement and realized that someone else was watching Brent through the observation window. The woman's dark clothing and long dark hair let her blend into the deepening shadows but, as she turned at the sound of Virginia's approaching footsteps, Virginia saw the streak of white running through her hair.

It was Loralee.

"What are you doing here?" Virginia whispered savagely. "Haven't you done enough to him? Why don't you leave us alone?"

Loralee smiled softly. "We were meant to be together... always and forever." Her dark eyes stared at Virginia in earnest. "He saw me, just now. He saw me and he *knew* me... wanted me. I could see it in his eyes. Don't you understand?"

"All I understand is that your... son," she hissed, "tried to kill him." Virginia moved in closer. "I want you to get away from him... and I want you to stay away from him."

Loralee gave that same serene smile and, taking one last look at Brent, she walked away with her final words drifting over her shoulder. "He should always have been mine... never hers. Never hers."

-ooOOoo-

Virginia looked up as she finished telling Brent and Martin about that night in the hospital.

"I wanted to kill her. I wanted to make sure she could never hurt you again." She gave him an imploring look. "You're my baby brother, Bren... and I love you."

"Did you kill her?" Virginia stared at him, her eyes narrowing in pain. "Ginny? Did you kill her?"

She closed her eyes and rose from the seat. "I'm so sorry, Bren. I'm so sorry."

"Ginny?"

"No. I didn't kill her, but I wanted to so badly. I wanted to see her pay for spawning that... that creature. I wanted her to suffer for hurting you and Jody." She rubbed away the tears forming in her eyes. "But Marge called me while I was waiting to board the flight home. She was distraught. She'd been drinking so I couldn't understand half of what she said... only that Loralee had come to the house, telling Marge that she wanted her to divorce you... so *she* could have you."

Virginia sighed deeply. "The phone cut off and she didn't answer my call-back. When I finally got through to her two days later, she denied anything had happened, and then she suggested that maybe it was better if you came to stay with me in New York." She pursed her lips. "I knew your marriage had been shaky for years, but I could hear the end in her voice. I knew it was over." She fell silent for a moment. "You know the rest."

She leaned over and kissed Brent's cheek, and then she walked to the threshold of the room. "My home is still your home, Bren. And Jody's too. For however long you want to stay."

-ooOOoo-

Danzig watched as the Forensic team opened the trunk of Virginia Wells' rental. One of them took out a swab and wetted it with some solution. He had seen this same procedure a dozen times in the past, and he watched with interest as the agent rubbed the swab along the trunk carpeting.

The crisp whiteness of the swab went a dingy grey black with dirt rather than the bright pink that denoted the presence of blood. Danzig watched as another specialist checked the interior but it was obvious that the car was clean. It had not been used to ferry Loralee's body to the lake.

They had run out of leads again.  
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Part 5 by Tarlan  
Martin watched as Virginia left the hospital room, knowing she would not be leaving town tonight. With Marge Marken dead and Brent in the hospital, she became Jody's guardian so she would be watching over both her brother and, in particular, her niece.

He thought about her confession. Jack had always told him to question the truth under all circumstances as you never knew when you had been fed a lie, and Virginia had been granted weeks to practice her deceit. Still, Martin was inclined to believe her version of events, if only because he could tell that Brent believed her. He knew it was a dangerous game to play, allowing his love for Brent to guide his beliefs and yet, there had been something very honest about her words. The depth of love she felt for her brother and niece convinced him that she would be capable of killing for them, but he could feel her pain that she had not been the one to protect them.

It was this feeling above all others that sealed his belief in her innocence.

No matter his beliefs, Martin knew he needed to relay this new information to the investigation team as soon as possible and let them decide if she spoke the truth or not. However, Martin was not going to make the mistake of going outside the loop as he had done once in the early days. Instead, he would contact Jack and let him deal with McGraw and his people. Martin dipped into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cellphone, then swore softly as he recalled that making calls from a cellphone was frowned upon here for fear of the signals upsetting the delicate balance of the life-saving equipment in use.

"I need to call Jack, and tell him what your sister said about Loralee, and your... your wife's call to her at the airport that night."

Brent nodded his understanding without thinking, then screwed his eyes up as the pain from his head wound hit him hard. He clutched tightly to the hand wrapped around his, waiting for the nauseating pain to ebb, then sighed raggedly, and let go of Martin's hand.

"Damn!"

"You want me to get the Doc?"

"No," Brent replied sharply, then his voice softened, "No, I'll be fine. Go make your call, Martin."

Martin leaned over and kissed the firm lips, feeling them soften almost on contact and then part to allow him access to the sweetness beyond. His senses tingled in need for the man beneath him as the kiss deepened unexpectedly. The desire swept through him, stunning him with its urgency, and he visibly trembled as he drew back. His breathing sounded harsh to his ears, and he couldn't seem to focus, falling deep into the darkened depths of stormy green eyes. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the promise of Brent Marken, to savor the scent and taste of the man, to wallow in the simple pleasure of every touch.

Almost without thought, he moved forward to taste Brent again... but a noise in the corridor beyond brought him back to his duty. It was only after he left the room, when his reeling senses stabilized, that he wondered at the strength of his desire for Brent. It was like nothing he had ever felt in his life before. Every touch sent sparks of passion through him, flaring in his heart and burning deep into the core of his being.

In the past he had scoffed at these notions, dismissing the films and books that revolved around this inexplicable flare of passion, as the works of romantics out of touch with reality. He had never thought to experience the rapture for himself. He had never believed that one person -- almost a stranger -- could sear every cell in his body with a single look and set his heart racing so fast that he thought he was dying.

Yet, if a single look could ignite the fire in his veins, then the touch of his lips upon Brent's felt like spontaneous combustion, with his body desperate to douse the flames of passion, deep within the body of his intended lover.

Lover.

Martin staggered to a halt close to the elevator as this single word fell like a cold shower upon him. For the first time he truly understood all that his mind and body were telling him, that this was no sweet aberration on his part. Nor was it some insane desire to strike back at his father or some strange need for experimentation. No. He wanted another man to be his lover... but not just any man. He wanted Brent Marken as his lover.

Lover.

New warmth radiated out from deep inside, with every part of him tingling in anticipation. Any remaining doubts were swept away in the full realization of all that he wanted from Brent Marken, shaking away any remaining fear that it was purely lust that he felt for the other man.

And what was more amazing was that Brent felt the same way about him, as if they were destined to be together. Haphazardly, he reached out to summon the elevator, entering it in a daze when the doors opened, with his thoughts turned inwards as the doors closed behind the blonde who had stepped out as he stepped in.

By the time he reached the ground floor and had walked most of the way to the exit, he had managed to get his errant thoughts back under control. Outside, the crisp late-fall air hit him and he shivered, recalling that he'd left his jacket inside, but instead of seeking the warmth of the hospital, he looked around in wonderment, as if seeing the world through new eyes.

Leaves on the trees had already turned to autumnal shades of red and gold. The slightest breeze plucked the dead leaves from their resting place, sending them dancing to the ground, only to be stirred once more, and sent twisting and spinning away.

He grinned, feeling more alive at this moment than in any other time he could recall, His thoughts and senses returned to the man lying in the hospital bed several floors above and, with eagerness, he pulled out the cellphone and speed dialed Jack. He wanted to get this call out of the way as quickly as possible, wanting to return to Brent as soon as he could.

Martin grinned when he heard Jack's voice, and quickly, he reported Virginia's sighting of Loralee at the hospital on the evening following her son's rampage through the sleepy town. As far as he knew, Virginia may have been the last person to see Loralee alive -- apart from her killer. In return, he heard comforting news that they had considered Brent's sister as either the killer or an accomplice but had found no evidence to support that theory.

As Martin replaced his cellphone in his pocket, he realized that it left only Marge or Jody as the killer. Either Brent's deceased wife, or his living daughter, had to be guilty of ending Loralee's existence, and Martin could not help but hope that any evidence pointed towards Marge Marken. He liked Jody, and he did not want to see any more grief darken Brent's eyes.

He took one more moment to take in the beauty surrounding him, and then he walked back into the hospital. His stride grew stronger, his thoughts more intense with every step he took back towards his intended lover.

The elevator came too slowly, and the journey upwards seemed to take forever, but eventually it deposited him on Brent's floor. Martin hurried towards the room where he had left Brent barely fifteen minutes earlier, his grin broadening with every step. He pushed open the door and froze, his pleasure turning to horror as he took in the sight before him.

Paul Sisler looked up from the corner of the room with eyes bereft of any emotion. On the floor in front of him lay a woman, her blue eyes staring into the distance, unseeing, while an ever-growing patch of red blossomed over her breast.

In Paul's hand he held a knife, its blade dulled by the fresh blood coating its sharp edge. Martin's eyes flicked to the bed, suddenly uncaring of the grisly tableau set before him as he raced to Brent's side and placed two fingers against the pulse point at Brent's throat. His eyes closed in relief; a small sob escaping him as he realized Brent still lived.

In a daze, he looked to Paul for answers, but Paul Sisler seemed beyond all vocal ability. Instead, Martin followed his eyes towards the bedside cabinet. FBI training snapped back into place and Martin slammed one hand onto the emergency call button, summoning medical assistance even as his fingers closed around the tiny bottle standing there.

A nurse rushed in, freezing momentarily in shock before making towards the woman lying dead on the floor.

"No," Martin called out sharply, stopping her in her tracks. He held out the empty bottle and looked at Brent, then back at the nurse. She understood immediately and took the bottle, racing away to intercept the doctor who would have been summoned by the emergency call.

Alone in the room with Brent unconscious and a woman dead at his feet, Martin turned his attention to Paul.

"Put down the knife."

"She killed him. You were supposed to take care of him. You promised!"

The words cut into Martin as cleanly as the knife Paul held but he kept his mind focused, falling back on his training. He wanted to be with Brent. He wanted to touch him, hold him, talk to him... anything to keep him anchored to this world, but he knew he could not do that until he had neutralized any threat towards his intended lover. While Paul held that knife no one could focus on Brent's needs.

"Brent needs medical help... but it won't get it unless you put down the knife." Martin took a step forward. "Please... put down the knife." His voice cracked, revealing the intense fear for Brent filling him, and some how, that reached Paul, and he lowered the knife to the floor, pushing it away from him towards Martin. Carefully, Martin pushed the knife out of reach with his foot just as the doctor reached the threshold.

Martin saw his eyes flick to first Paul and then the dead woman, but then he rushed to his patient and began his examination, mumbling away words that meant little or nothing to Martin. However, they seemed to confirm that Brent's unconsciousness rose from a more sinister reason than a need for sleep.

Hospital Security arrived at the door, and Martin pulled out his FBI credentials, allowing them to drag Paul to his feet and lead him away, though he made little resistance. Martin took several steps back until his back was against the wall, his eyes catching a glint of light from the knife he had kicked under the bed only to realize that something else lay close beside it. He dropped down and reached under the bed, carefully catching hold of the hypodermic in a way to preserve any fingerprints.

Martin climbed to his feet and called to the doctor, holding up the syringe, but pulling it away when the doctor reached for it automatically.

"Fingerprints," Martin said as a means of explanation, and the doctor acknowledged this, leaning forward to study the almost full syringe. His eyes closed, his lips rising in a smile as he turned to the nurse who entered behind them and took the drugs he had ordered. Quickly, he swabbed a patch on Brent's inner elbow and then injected the contents of his filled hypodermic.

"This should counteract the drug that was administered but, to be truthful, if the whole of that had been injected then I'd be calling the morgue right about now."

The doctor knelt down beside the dead woman now that he had done all he could for the living.

"Do you know who she is?"

"Yeah," responded Martin sickly, recalling the blonde woman who had exited the elevator as he got in, having failed to recognize her while preoccupied with thoughts of Brent. "Her name is... was Carolyn Sisler."

-ooOOoo-

Jack leaned forward on the low meagerly upholstered seat, his lips pursing as he took in the slumped frame and felt the waves of despondency rolling off his junior agent. The activity beyond the waiting room had started to slow, and Jack saw Martin flinch as someone wheeled a gurney passed the open doorway. They both knew the cover concealed the body of Carolyn Sisler rather than some other unfortunate person, for Jack recognized the agent accompanying the body on its journey to the morgue. Jack looked across into the haunted blue eyes just as they found his.

"I dropped the ball, Jack. He trusted me to look after him... but I fucked up... and he nearly died."

Jack remained silent; knowing Martin was not looking for excuses no matter how valid they might be. He did not want absolution, and he did not need anyone telling him that they all made mistakes, that they all got so wrapped up in their thoughts that they missed vital clues occasionally. Martin already knew all of this and once he had time to let the events play out in his head then he would see that he was no different to the rest of them. He was only human with the same frailties that, perversely, could also be his strengths.

Jack knew that the problem lay not with what had happened but with how it had happened. It had been a gamble leaving Martin watching over Brent Marken, for more reason than just his growing attraction to the man. There was also Martin's recent head injury and the stress of long hours with little downtime since well before Brent Marken stepped into their lives. None of them had been granted much of a break since little Angie McCormack went missing, and the grisly discovery of her tiny, abused body had given them no comfort, and no closure either, for her killer was still at large.

Jack sighed inwardly knowing Martin needed to work through this pain. Silently, he hoped Martin would not do anything rash before he had reached full understanding of the circumstances surrounding this latest attack on Marken.

Following the death of Arnold Grazer, the 24-hour cover for Marken had been lifted despite Jack's insistence that it was not over yet. However, there had been nothing but hearsay to connect Grazer with anyone else so the assumption had to be made that Grazer had worked alone for personal reasons, wanting to eliminate those who threatened his job. Cuts in the FBI budget meant that savings had to made some where, and McGraw had not been able to justify a continuance of protection, so they had reached a compromise by leaving Martin watching over Marken.

Had it just been bad timing on Martin's part that he happened to step out just as a potential killer stepped in? Or perhaps it was some kind of cosmic joke set out like a Shakespearean play to keep the potential lovers apart. Jack could only hope that, in this case, it would turn out to be one of Shakespeare's comedies rather than his tragedies with love triumphing over adversity. Certainly he could see new knowledge filling the bright eyes that made the burden of this attack even harder for Martin to bear. As if to confirm his thoughts, Martin whispered hoarsely, "I love him, Jack."

"I know."

Martin's brows drew together, face taking on a stony defensive expression, "And that doesn't shock you?"

"Why should it?"

Martin stared at him for a moment, hopefully seeing the compassion in Jack's eyes and not taking it as pity. Then his cheeks reddened, eyes darting away in embarrassment.

"I wasn't thinking about the job... I was thinking about him... and me." He looked back as anger darkened his cheeks further. "I walked right past her, Jack. I was so close I could have counted the hairs in her nostrils."

"Did she have a lot of hair there?" Jack asked softly.

"What?"

Jack cracked a small smile and Martin shook his head, snorting softly as a begrudging smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He sighed raggedly.

"She was so close, Jack. But I was miles away, building a future in my head while she walked past with the intention of destroying that same future. I didn't recognize her." Martin rubbed his eyes, scrubbing away a suspicion of tears. "He could have died, Jack."

Jack nodded slowly, all too aware of how close it had been. If Paul Sisler had not been watching over Brent, and had not been there to stop Carolyn Sisler from injecting the full contents of that hypo into Marken then it would have been Marken's body rather than Carolyn Sisler's on that journey to the morgue.

"Danzig is trying to find out how she got hold of a controlled drug."

"Wright Transportations. I saw it listed on the manifest under Veterinarian Supplies." Martin gave a laugh that held no humor. "She was going to... put him down like he was nothing more than a dog." He ran a hand over his face. "Christ."

Jack thought about the hypodermic syringe filled with Sodium Phenobarbital, and how Paul Sisler must have disturbed his sister-in-law just as she started to administer the lethal injection, perhaps knocking it from her hand before she could plunge the full contents into the IV tube. In the correct dosage the sleeping drug could be used as a general anaesthetic -- though it was mostly used for euthanasia in animals -- but in the quantity she planned to use it would have caused a shutdown of the neurotransmitters in the brain. Marken would have been unconsciousness within seconds, and then dead within minutes. Fast and painless, and statistically, the preferred murder method of most female killers.

Before he could dwell on that thought a figure filled the doorway, and Jack looked across to find a tired and disheveled Tony McGraw standing over them. McGraw's eyes flicked meaningfully between both Jack and Martin.

"Sheriff Marken's waking up. I thought you both might like to question him on what happened... before we head out to the Sheriff's office to question Paul Sisler."

Jack looked at Martin, his eyes conveying a question that asked Martin if he was ready for this. Martin nodded slightly and as he stood up, Jack could see the helpless desire to see Brent Marken fill the deep blue eyes. They followed McGraw down the corridor but Martin stopped on the threshold of Marken's room, pulling back to allow Jack to go in before him, and then he slid inside, almost hugging the wall, with his eyes fixed solely on Marken's living presence.

Marken looked from one face to another, only relaxing when he found Martin standing by the wall. He gave a small welcoming smile that seemed reserved for Martin alone and only then did he let his attention return to A.D. McGraw.

"Do you remember what happened after Agent Fitzgerald left this room?"

Brent's green eyes sought Martin's once more and then took on a darkened, faraway look as he recalled his unexpected encounter with Carolyn Sisler...

-ooOOoo-

"Go make your call, Martin."

The feel of Martin's lips upon his had set his pulse racing and despite his pain, he responded eagerly, wanting to savor the uniqueness of Martin, wanting Martin to lay claim to his mouth, having already captured his heart and soul. By the time Martin drew back, Brent had no more doubts that they were meant to be together. He could feel this in every part of him, as if he had been searching for Martin all of his life. The almost giddy sensation overwhelmed him, his eyes fixed on the kiss-bruised lips that glistened enticingly a mere few inches above his own. As if by thought alone, he drew Martin down into a second kiss, no longer caring about propriety, or the wife he had not yet buried. None of it mattered any more -- not Marge, nor Jody, and certainly not Loralee. All that mattered was the man leaning over him and this indescribable need to consummate the powerful feelings rushing through him with that man.

He barely registered the noise in the corridor beyond but it was enough to shatter the pleasure of the moment, pulling them apart and reminding them of their duty. Brent swallowed hard as Martin walked away, unable to halt the tremors of anticipation racing through him. He knew Martin felt the same way. He had seen it in the desire darkened eyes, and had felt it in the urgency of his kiss.

Exhausted, Brent closed his eyes and let images of Martin fill his mind. What would it be like to hold him, and to feel the satin smoothness of his warm skin pressed against his? How would feel to touch a male body, and to see muscles rippling over bone? Would he have thick chest hair or just a smattering growing denser as it arrowed down to his groin? And would it be the same mid-brown, or a darker shade?

Brent took a deep breath, his senses recalling the sharp scent of Martin's aftershave, and yet a headier, muskier scent underlined it, and he wondered if that was pure Martin. Despite his exhaustion, Brent felt his shaft stirring anew at the thought of exploring the lean, muscular frame with all his senses, wanting to taste and touch and scent the man while his eyes drank in his beauty and his ears captured his hoarse moans of pleasure.

Light footsteps called him back from his fantasy and he opened his eyes expecting to see a nurse hovering over him. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Hello, Bren. It's been a long time."

"Carolyn?"

"You know," she started, conversationally, "Harry was never the smart one in the family. Easily led astray... so weak. Unlike John and myself. Now, John was the strong one, and father recognized that which is why he loved John best." She sank to the chair beside Brent. "Harry hated it. Always coming in second. Second son, second husband... second best quarterback."

She gave an exaggerated smile.

"You were the best quarterback Cherry Falls ever produced. I used to get yelled at for watching you play when I was supposed to be shaking those pom-poms." Her hands mimicked the movement. "But then we all loved to watch you. Loralee said you were poetry in motion... and she was right."

"Everyone wanted you, Bren. All the girls swooned if you so much as looked in their direction, and all the boys wanted to be you... or they hated you because they weren't you. They figured you could have anything you wanted."

She grinned maliciously.

"No one was surprised when they made you and Marge the King and Queen of the Graduation Ball... but in truth, you were the Joker. The funny one in the pack. Up there on the stage, all you gave Marge was a chaste kiss on the cheek while others were performing tonsillectomies on their partners."

She laughed. "That's when it finally sank in with Tom. Until then he'd defended you from those saying you were queer, calling it sour grapes. Poor Tom, terrified of being tarred with the same brush, and getting more and more annoyed with the rumors that said the pair of you fucked each other."

Her smile dropped away. "I was the one who suggested they get you drunk that night... and get you laid to prove you were a real man. Poor Marge was just as eager... No. She was desperate to be your first and only girl. Guess she got her wish eventually... but not that night. And Loralee Sherman? Weird little Loralee who used to sit at the back of the class writing those silly lovesick poems and letters that she'd never send."

Carolyn's face turned ugly with resentment.

"It was never about Loralee. It's always been about you, Bren. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Any girl would have done... even me."

She laughed at the possibility.

"But I loved Tom and Harry... and after that night I wanted you as far away from them as possible." She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "and Daddy's little girl always got what she wanted."

Brent felt the shock ripple through him. "The Princeton scholarship?"

"Oh yes... I convinced daddy that you'd led the others astray, that you were a bad influence. I made them leave you behind in this town to rot."

Brent looked up in horror at the still pretty younger sister of a boy he had once believed to be one of his best friends. Had Harry known of his sister's machinations? Had he been party to it, too weak-willed to fight against her?

Brent had pinned all his hopes on that scholarship, wanting to avoid being dragged into the family business that he'd hated for most of his life. The Princeton scholarship had opened new doors to him, giving him hope for a brighter future, only to see those doors slammed shut in his face after that fateful night... and none of it had truly been his fault. He knew that now.

Brent felt a lethargy steal over him, realizing how much he had paid for the crimes of others. Harry, Tom and Jimmy had all gone on to Princeton, forging splendid careers for themselves while he had been left behind with no recourse but to accept a position in his father's construction business. Eventually, he'd found a place where he could be content... though Marge had never agreed with him joining the Sheriff's department, especially after his father's business had taken off under the business acumen of his sister, Ginny.

Brent thought of what he might have been if Carolyn had not interfered in his life twenty-five years ago, and then realized that he had few regrets other than his sham of a marriage to Marge. He did not regret his years as Sheriff, and he did not regret the child born out of that marriage -- his Jody. And now he had one more reason to accept the past, for it had brought Martin Fitzgerald into his life.

"Why are you here, Carolyn?"

"Protecting my family. Tom, Harry... even Jimmy this time."

"From me?"

"From the truth. Even though I can't find Loralee, her statement is on record, and your word could make or break it. None of us can afford that... especially Jimmy. In return for his continued business he did insist that I made certain you wouldn't talk to the Media about Loralee and her unproven claims."

"Wayne Wright--"

"Had little to do with any of this. Another weak man, so easy to manipulate. Full of ideas but lacking the balls to carry them out. He thought you'd be scared off by a couple of inept hitman, and now he thinks I've come here to pay you off."

"Have you?"

She smiled and took out a small bottle and a hypodermic, piercing the lid and drawing the fluid into the syringe. Brent tried to raise his head from the pillow but fell back with his senses spinning, unaware until now at how weak he was following this most recent ordeal at Grazer's hand. Not even the release of adrenaline could bring him the strength he needed to fight as she reached for the IV line and slid the needle inside. He used what little strength remained to try and wrench the line free from his hand, seeing her fingers wrap around the hypo and her thumb press down on the plunger...

-ooOOoo-

"And that's all I remember." Brent closed his eyes as another wave of fatigue washed over him but he forced open his eyes. "Where is she?"

Brent saw Jack glance at McGraw as if asking permission to speak first. "Carolyn Sisler is dead."

It took a moment for the news to sink in. Brent looked to Martin for confirmation and saw misery cross the younger man's face, and he wondered what role Martin had played in this latest death. Had he returned to find Carolyn here, and stopped her the way he had stopped Arnold Grazer?

And then it struck him that yet another person had died because of him. How many did that make now? How many lives had been ruined because of him? Certainly Loralee's, and her child's. And Marge, Greg Marliston, and all those kids killed or injured by Loralee's deranged son. The horror of his thoughts must have registered on his face for Martin pushed away from the wall and was beside him in seconds, his hand clutching at Brent's.

"None of it was your fault. None of it."

"When's it gonna end, Martin? When's this nightmare gonna end?"

-ooOOoo-

McGraw stepped out of the private room and nodded towards the guard posted close by. He was not going to make the same mistake of leaving Marken unprotected again even though there was little chance that there would be any further attempts on the man's life now that Carolyn Sisler was dead. Still, Adnam-White was a rich man. Certainly he was wealthy enough and had sufficient contacts to hire his own hitmen now that Carolyn Sisler had failed, but would he take such a gamble?

In many ways, Marken's only recourse seemed to be to do exactly what Adnam-White and the McKays feared most and release his version of the events that took place that night. Yet there would never be enough evidence to convict anyone of that twenty-five year old crime, not with Loralee dead. Instead, it would leave Marken open to a counter-sue of slander and libel by families with enough wealth to hire top lawyers. They would rip Marken's statement to shreds and leave the man destitute.

"Caught between the Scylla and Charybdis." McGraw turned with a questioning frown at Jack's quiet words as the Missing Person's team leader fell into step beside him. Then he recalled the reference from Greek mythology of the giant whirlpool and the jagged rocks between which only the most skilled sailor could traverse, with a single error sweeping everyone to their doom.

"Is there a safe passage for him through this?"

"I don't know. If he corroborates Loralee Marliston's claim that she was raped then he'll bring a scandal down upon the Adnam-Whites and McKays, and they will be forced to retaliate through the judicial system. But truth or not, he was too drunk that night to know what was going on. It would still be Loralee's word against theirs and they can say she was willing, then disgruntled when none of the boys wanted her after taking their pleasure -- a woman scorned. They'd paint her as a girl from the wrong side of the tracks looking for a one-way ticket from white trash to wealthy socialite. They'd drag out witnesses who'd be willing to swear that she was a strange one, living in a fantasy world... and then they'd ask Marken how much he had been drinking that night."

"Questionable truth."

"Right."

"So maybe he needs to convince them that he won't take it any further."

"That's not the problem. Marken knows Loralee was telling the truth about that night... and not because he believed *her*. He knows because *they* admitted it to him years ago, but nothing's really changed though. The circumstances that made him keep his mouth shut then still apply today... only he feels he owes it to Loralee Marliston, and to the families of the kids murdered by her son, to let everyone know the truth."

McGraw brushed a hand through his thinning hair. "I informed Fitzgerald of Carolyn Sisler's death. Figured he'd want to know before the Media got hold of the story. He's probably with Senator McKay as we speak, discussing damage limitation." McGraw looked back towards the room where they had left Marken and Fitzgerald's son. "Does he know about his kid?"

"Does he know what?"

"I don't have a problem with gays in the FBI."

McGraw caught Jack's dark eyes on him, and then heard the softly expelled sigh. "He doesn't know... and I have a feeling he is not going to be the most tolerant of fathers once he finds out."

"Don't take this as a slight, but if you have problems with keeping Agent Fitzgerald on your team then I'd be more than happy to assign him to Homicide."

"I won't have any problems." Jack smiled gently, recognizing McGraw's ploy. "You had your chance and passed him over, so he came to me... and I don't plan to let him go without a fight."

"Noted," replied McGraw dryly with a twitch of a smile.

They stepped into the elevator and headed down to the ground floor where McGraw's rental stood waiting. McGraw came to a halt just outside the entrance and stared out across the street to the trees opposite, taking in the colors of the season and the freshness of the air. It was just after 9 a.m. and yet hardly any traffic moved along the street whereas he had become accustomed to seeing cars bumper-to-bumper on the streets of New York from the first streak of dawn to well beyond dusk. It was the peace that struck him most of all, only occasionally broken by a passing car. It was the sort of peace he only felt on his early morning jog through Central Park before the rest of New York woke up.

His moment of reflection came to an end as he spotted Jody Marken and Virginia Wells headed towards them accompanied by one of Mina's deputies. The young girl still looked pale and drawn, and he knew this latest attack on her father must have shaken her even more. Virginia Wells stopped in front of McGraw with her eyes tight with anger; she had also taken the latest news badly. He realized that she would have known Carolyn Sisler, if not from high school then at least from her brother's former friendships with Harold McKay and Tom Sisler.

"How could this happen? How could she get so close to him?" Her words held an edge of bitterness.

McGraw remained silent, knowing there were no excuses that would defuse her anger, and that she had every right to be angry. Concern over budgets had left her brother unprotected, almost costing him his life. She turned her face away for a moment to compose herself, and he knew then that she had not expected to gain an answer from him. When she looked back, the anger had faded into fatigue, letting him see the full extent of these past weeks upon her and leaving him with no doubt that she loved her brother and niece.

"Is it true that Paulie saved him?"

McGraw's eyes flicked to a suddenly nervous deputy, but he let it go. Small towns could be a law unto themselves, and news of this nature could not be contained indefinitely -- not when there had been so many witnesses following Carolyn's murder attempt.

"I've yet to question Paul Sisler... but he was present at the time of the attack." A softening in her eyes showed that she accepted his words. "My apologies, Mrs. Wells, but I really must--"

"Yes... And I need to see my brother."

McGraw stood aside and watched as the two women passed, following them with his eyes until they turned the corner by the bank of elevators. He glanced towards Jack and then, together they climbed into McGraw's car and pulled away, heading for the Sheriff's Office where Paul Sisler had been processed and would be awaiting questioning.

-ooOOoo-

9.15 a.m.  
Cherry Falls Sheriff's Department

"I came back to Cherry Falls because I wanted to keep a watch on that... bitch. She's always hated Bren, hated him because Tom always put Bren first... when they were friends. But she put a stop to that. She made certain Tom and Bren went their separate ways, but Tom was too pig-headed to see her for what she was. Bitch." He spat out again.

Sisler reached for a cigarette from the pack lying in front of him and lit it, drawing in deeply. His eyes closed momentarily.

"When Tom was offered the Principle position, she was against coming back here because she knew Bren was now the Sheriff and she was afraid he and Tom would put the past behind them and become friends again. Trouble is, Tom wanted the position. With a few years as Principle of a high school behind him, he would have a chance to go for more prestigious postings elsewhere, so he took the job... and then found he liked being back here... much to the bitch's dismay."

"She made certain Tom and Bren never had the chance to be friends by going out of her way to alienate Marge from decent society, making sure Bren and Tom would never move in the same circles. But she couldn't stop them from having to work together occasionally."

Paul dragged one trembling hand through his hair, the tip of the cigarette glowing red as he sucked in more nicotine. He exhaled slowly, the plume of blue-tinged smoke curling up towards the ceiling.

"In an interview with Carolyn Sisler," said Jack, "She mentioned that she'd not known about your brother's part in the rape of Loralee until his confession on the same day he was murdered." Jack watched carefully for Paul Sisler's response, unsurprised when he laughed aloud.

"She knew. She was the one who got Tom to set it all up that night. She even gave Tom the drugs they put in Bren's drink to make sure he was good and drunk... except Tom didn't know how much to use."

"So he used too much," stated McGraw.

"Yeah... I knew about their plans so I snuck over to Marge's house that night. I saw them... saw Bren. He could barely put one foot in front of the other. They had to pick him up off the lawn and shove him into the back seat of the car when Margie's dad came rushing out of the house after them. About an hour later, they turned up at home -- without Bren -- looking like they were on an adrenaline high. All jittery but excited too, making each other promise not to say a word about what happened and trying to get their stories straight. I thought it a little strange at the time 'cause I thought the whole point was to make sure *everyone* knew Bren got laid by Margie. Wasn't until the cops arrived a little later that I heard the whole story... about the rape."

"Then Carolyn might have known about the allegation, but *not* necessarily that it was true." Jack waited patiently for Sisler's answer.

"Maybe," Paul added, begrudgingly, "But unlikely. Harry was always the weakest of the four, and his sister could run rings around him. She'd have dragged the truth from him before the end of that first day, but she would have never blamed Tom or Harry for what happened. Oh no. It would have been Bren's fault. All of it Bren's fault."

"Were you aware that Loralee Marliston and her husband were blackmailing your brother Tom, Harold McKay and James Adnam-White?" asked McGraw.

Paul Sisler gave a sly smile. "Who do you think gave them the idea?"

Jack sat back in his seat and appraised the man seated on the opposite side of the table. Everything was starting to fall into place now, providing him with yet another explanation for why Loralee had not blackmailed Brent Marken as well. The one thing Paul Sisler and Loralee Marliston had in common was their unrequited love for the same man; a love that had not diminished over the years. Perhaps this had been their way of gaining revenge, with both of them believing the other three boys had been responsible for taking away any hope they might have held for being the one to claim Brent Marken as their lover.

Instead, both had been forced to stand by while Marken was forced into marriage with someone he did not love.

 

"Why Tom though? Why let her blackmail your own brother?" asked McGraw.

"Tom knew nothing about it. Loralee was blackmailing the bitch."

Jack realized that was feasible, especially if Carolyn had handled all the finances.

"What happened at the hospital?"

"I've been listening in on the dispatches, so I went to the hospital as soon as I heard the report of a disturbance at Bren's home, and the call for paramedics. I hung around, waited, and watched. I saw everyone leave except for that agent... Martin..."

"Martin Fitzgerald."

"Yeah." He paused, lips trembling, his voice dropping lower. "I saw him..." Sisler closed his eyes.

"What did you see?" Asked McGraw, leaning forward to capture the hoarse whisper.

"All I ever wanted was for Bren to be happy. He deserved to be happy... but it hurt to see..." his words trailed off again.

Jack caught McGraw's eye, both of them understanding what Sisler had seen that could hurt so much. He must have seen the affection and the attraction between Brent Marken and Martin Fitzgerald, recognizing that Brent had finally allowed himself to fall in love with another man -- but that man was not Paul Sisler. All his hopes of seeing his love for Brent returned in full measure must have been dashed at that moment.

"I watched him walk away... and part of me wanted to... to hurt him for taking Bren away from me. But he looked so happy. He walked right past without even glancing in my direction... but then, who does notice the janitor?"

Paul swallowed hard as he stubbed out the cigarette viciously into the ashtray.

"They both looked so happy. Then, as he stepped inside the elevator, a woman got out."

"Carolyn Sisler."

"The bitch... and Bren was all alone." He looked up then, eyes staring into Jack's in earnest. "I didn't intend to kill the bitch. Just wanted to hear what she had to say to Bren, but then she pulled out the syringe and stuck it into the line. I could see Bren was too weak to stop her so I... so I... I had to stop her."

He leaned forward. "Please? Is Bren..?"

McGraw's voice was full of compassion. "He's fine. You stopped her in time."

The interview came to the end not long after, and Jack sighed as he watched the deputy lead Paul Sisler away. He was about to rise when Mina entered and placed a fax copy in front of McGraw.

"Thought you'd like to see this right away," she took a seat and watched as McGraw read the words with ever-widening eyes. He passed the fax across to Jack without a word, waiting patiently while Jack read, and then re-read the words.

Jack looked up in surprise, catching Mina's dark eyes with a single question uppermost in his own.

"Harold McKay released this statement twenty minutes ago, it's running on all the major news channels now."

They rose with alacrity, following Mina to the Sheriff's office where the television had been tuned to CNN, and arriving just in time to see a disheveled Harold McKay step up to a microphone as the statement replayed.

"Twenty-five years ago, I and two friends committed a grave injustice towards two others... one of whom had been a good friend until that day."

The haggard man took a ragged breath.

"James Adnam-White, Thomas Sisler and I raped Loralee Sherman and then conspired to force another boy, Brent Marken, into a similar lewd act against her, though without success. Our actions that day, and in the weeks that followed, caused great hardship for Loralee, for Brent, and for their families, and contributed to the recent murders of several children in Cherry Falls, and of Greg Marliston and Marge Marken... and caused the death of my sister, Carolyn."

His voice cracked.

"Bren... I'm so sorry."

He turned away; ignoring the sudden commotion as reporters surged forward demanding answers to more questions. The scene cut away to that of several reporters and their crews who were still milling about as they waited for a statement from Senator McKay's office. The CNN camera focused in on its reporter.

"This is Langley Dawson, reporting from Washington where Harold McKay, brother of Senator John McKay, confessed to a twenty-five year old rape charge connected with the recent 'Virgin Killer' murders in the small town of Cherry Falls."

The anchor woman began to ask questions but Jack tuned out the rest of the report, aware that the threat to Brent Marken had come to an end. Now it was no longer important if Marken corroborated Loralee's version of events or not, for Harold McKay had made a public confession.

All that remained was discovering who had killed Loralee Marliston so Brent Marken could find full closure, and put the past behind him once and for all.

-ooOOoo-

The following day, Brent eased into the shirt that Virginia had brought from the house, feeling rather embarrassed as she clucked around him like a mother hen, deftly doing up the buttons and attempting to tuck in the shirt tails.

He nudged her fingers away. "I can do that."

She chuckled softly and he was grateful when she didn't protest and slap his hand away. He hissed as an experimental shrug of his damaged left shoulder sent a dull pain through him even though the whole shoulder and most of the arm were heavily bandaged to restrict almost all movement. Earlier, he'd had a moment of concern that Doctor Reynolds was going to insist on having the shoulder and arm put into a cast now that the repair to the severed artery had shown all signs of healing nicely. However, Reynolds made no mention of it and Brent did not remind him. Instead the nurse had bound him up as tightly as before with his arm bent in a deep V at the elbow, and strapped across his chest.

An orderly arrived, pushing an empty wheelchair and Brent sat down in it without a murmur, knowing he would not be allowed to walk out under his own steam due to hospital policy. A silence fell about the room, filled with expectation as they waited for Brent to give the word that he was ready... but he wasn't ready for someone was missing. He stared at the door, then glanced at his sister, finally resigning himself to the inevitable, when a familiar figure stepped into the door frame.

"Sorry. I got delayed. Thought I might have missed you."

"No. I'm ready to leave now," replied Brent grinned, unable to hide his pleasure.

Martin grinned in return and stepped into the room, snatching up Brent's few belongings and then allowing the orderly to push Brent's wheelchair out into the corridor and along to the bank of elevators. He fell in step beside the wheelchair, glancing down at Brent and smiling when Brent looked back up. The elevator arrived, and they all moved inside, traveling down to the ground floor in silence. Martin put out a hand and drew the orderly to a halt after they had exited the elevator car, his smile dampened as he leaned over to speak to Brent.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

Brent took a deep breath and nodded, recalling the last time he had left this hospital, and the reporters and angry mob that had waited for him just beyond the automatic doors. He had been warned that the crowd had been gathering out there for some time this morning, with trucks from several major networks lining the street opposite the hospital.

Gavin Simmons stepped up beside Brent and laid a hand on his shoulder in a show of support. His white and silver hair was immaculate, with his suit fitting to perfection, looking every inch the lawyer that had looked after first his father's and then Ginny's interests over the years. Virginia had insisted that he was present to help Brent run the gauntlet of reporters and advise him on how to deal with the legal issues arising from his part in the whole sordid affair.

Harold McKay's confession had been big news, and now everyone wanted to know what had happened all those years ago, and how that crime from the past had wreaked havoc on the present. Brent's only consolation, this time, was that he would not be held solely accountable for the deaths of the recently murdered kids.

The orderly began to wheel him towards the large doors, and he could see the crowd pushing up against the hastily erected barricades. Reporters holding their strange fluffy mikes jostled for position alongside their cameramen, and beyond them stood the familiar faces of the people he had sworn to protect as Sheriff of Cherry Falls. He steeled his expression; unsure what to expect this time around but fearing it would be worse than before.

The automatic door slid open and the noise level of the crowd rose abruptly as they spotted him rising out of the wheelchair. Reporters tried to rush forward, stabbing their mikes towards his face as they yelled out their questions. He heard particular words amid the roar of the crowd: his name, Loralee's, McKays, Adnam-Whites and Sisler's... murder and rape.

Martin stayed by his side, gently nudging back those who managed to get too close and reminding them that Brent had agreed to hold a press conference at the High School in one hour. Simmons did the same on the other side while Virginia and Jody followed on behind.

With relief, Brent reached the car and slid into the rear passenger seat, with Virginia and Simmons sliding in to either side of him, taking care not to jostle his damaged arm. Jody climbed into the front passenger seat while Martin took the wheel, quickly gunning the engine and leaving the crowd far behind.

"More people, but it wasn't so bad this time around," remarked Brent with a sigh, recalling how they had beat against the windows of the car last time around.

"Yeah, well, last time they thought you were responsible for the murders... and now they know different."

Brent gave a wry grin at Martin's reply. "Do they? Seems to me I'm responsible for all of it."

Simmons placed a hand on Brent's thigh. "You're not accountable for the actions of others, any more than Loralee Sherman is accountable for her rape just for being alone on that darkened street that night. They chose the path they followed. They are the ones responsible."

"Kind of turns me into a victim."

"Perhaps... though 'victim' has a very negative connotation. I prefer to call you 'the one who was wronged'."

"It's just semantics."

"Is it?" Simmons smiled. "If it was just semantics then no one would need lawyers."

Brent noticed that they were heading towards the main street where Simmons still kept an office despite taking semi-retirement several years back. He knew Simmons only opened that office for special clients, and he allowed the lawyer to take him through to his inner sanctum leaving the others waiting outside. Brent turned and gave them all a reassuring smile before the heavy door closed behind him. He took the offered seat and waited to hear how Simmons wanted him to proceed. Simmons got straight down to business, knowing they had little time left to prepare.

"We have to discuss what you will say at this press conference."

"Okay."

"First. Repeat after me... I am the one wronged. I am not the perpetrator of these crimes. Nor am I responsible for the actions of the people who committed these crimes." Brent snorted and looked away. "I'm serious, Brent. You've been carry around this parcel of guilt for so long you've forgotten that you were also the victim that night."

"Thought you didn't like that word."

"I don't... but if you're going to insist on being a victim then that's what you'll remain."

"Victim implies I had no free will that night. But I knew what I was doing... even if I couldn't... actually do it."

"Did you? Did you really know what you were doing? Did you walk over to Loralee, straddle her, then rape her knowingly?"

"Of course not!" Brent stared in shock at Simmons for even suggesting that he would do such a thing to another person, and found a pair of knowing eyes smiling back at him.

"What happened when the others picked you off the road and carried you to her?"

Brent blinked, caught off guard by the question, but he knew he had to be completely honest with Simmons.

"I don't remember it all... just fleeting moments here, and there." He frowned as he focused back on the past. "I remember feeling someone's hand tugging at my pants, touching me... intimately. Other hands grabbing hold of me... rocking me against her... and not once did she say anything, or do anything to stop it." He took a ragged breath. "Then all I felt was the air rushing out of me when I hit the ground... again." He laughed without humor. "That's what I remember most about that night... seeing the ground coming up to hit me... over and over.... Grass... road... more grass."

"They drugged you, Brent. They shoved bottles of beer laced with LSD into your hand until they figured you were pliable enough to do what they wanted. And when their plans went awry, when Margie's dad interfered, they went out looking for a substitute... and found Loralee."

"They were my friends."

"No, Brent. Maybe they had been once... but that ceased the moment they took away your free will and sent you hurtling into a twenty-five year long nightmare." Simmons fell silent, fingers steepled as he stared across his desk at Brent, giving Brent time for his words to sink in. His voice was softer when he continued.

"Step outside yourself for a moment. Look at this objectively, from the viewpoint of the Sheriff of Cherry Falls Police Department. With all that you know, if Brent Marken stood up in front of you right this minute, would you hold him responsible for what happened then... or now?"

"No," he breathed softly; closing his eyes at the burning sensation of tears forming behind his eyelids.

"Then repeat after me... I am the one wronged. I am not the perpetrator of these crimes. Nor am I responsible for the actions of the people who committed these crimes."

Brent squeezed his eyes shut tight and looked away, his one good hand rising to cover his embarrassment and his shame as the tears squeezed between his eyelashes. He should have been able to stop them that night. He should have been able to do something -- anything -- to help Loralee afterwards. Instead he had doomed them both to a life of misery, his inaction feeding the despair until it rose up in rage against them all in the form of Leonard Marliston.

Simmons strong yet gentle voice stirred the air between them, reinforcing the words. "I am the one wronged. I am not the perpetrator of these crimes. Nor am I responsible for the actions of the people who committed these crimes."

-ooOOoo-

Martin stood at the back, watching as Brent handled the questions thrown at him with total honesty tinged with acceptance of the role he had played. His only fear, that Brent would try to accept responsibility for all that had happened purely because he had been the catalyst, proved unfounded. He sighed in relief, silently thanking Virginia for bringing Simmons in to handle Brent's defense. He had no idea what had happened inside Simmons office, but Brent's red-lined eyes had hinted at an emotion-filled discussion.

Still, Brent had come out of Simmons office looking far more at than he had when he first entered. So whatever words Simmons offered had given him a little peace of mind, making Martin realize that Simmons was more than just a lawyer, he was also a family friend to the Markens.

He leaned forward as the most damning of questions was thrown at Brent.

"Did you know you were raping Loralee Sherman that night?"

The room fell silent, waiting on Brent's answer. "Not at the time. No. But I knew later... what they had done to us both."

"Why didn't you report it?"

Brent smiled sadly. "And say what? It was all just hearsay... I had no proof. It took years before the... the flashbacks showed me what happened that night. By then it was far too late to do anything... except devote my life to making sure no one else suffered the same way."

Martin lowered his eyes, knowing Brent had finally acknowledged that his friends had drugged him that night, the LSD sending him flashbacks of that rape all those years ago. He listened intently as the final questions were raised and answered before Simmons drew a halt to the conference.

Afterwards, Brent seemed completely drained, and Martin wished he did not have to be the bearer of more sad news. Jack and Samantha had left earlier that day, heading back to New York to start on the next case, and his day's grace, mostly to tie up loose ends with McGraw's people, was slowly drawing to an end. Tomorrow he would be flying back to New York and he was afraid that he might never see Brent again.

His eyes lingered over the lean but well-muscled frame, imagining what it would be like to touch him, and hold him, and to feel Brent's body respond to his. He wanted Brent more than he had wanted anything in his life before, his senses still reeling from the kiss they had shared only yesterday. Yet, how were they to find a way to stay together, to allow their relationship to grow beyond almost chaste kisses to the physical passion that Martin so desired.

He watch, almost with envy, as Brent's remaining family gathered around him, seeing Brent's daughter and sister show him all the support that Martin had felt lacking from his own family during his life. How often had he wished for a simple word of encouragement or respect from his father? Everyone had tried to make excuses for his father -- pressure of work, social etiquette -- but the truth was, he would never meet up to his father's exacting standards. Only the knowledge that no one else could match those same standards gave him some small measure of dignity as he was brushed aside again and again.

Martin followed Brent and the others out of the side door, making certain Brent escaped any further questioning by the still inquisitive reporters. Darkness had fallen by the time he drove away from the high school, with the roads eerily quiet compared to the bustle he had become used to in Washington and New York.

He dropped Simmons off at his office, then drove across the small town to deposit Brent, Jody and Virginia Wells as the Marken house. With maturity that belied her age, Jody hooked her arm through her aunt's and walked her up the path, quickly disappearing inside the house, leaving Brent alone with Martin. Martin cleared his throat, already choking on the words he needed to utter.

"I leave tomorrow. New case, and Jack needs my computer skills." Martin gazed at Brent for a moment. "Will you be returning to New York, to stay with your sister?"

Brent's eyes lowered, the corners of his mouth taking the same downward line. "No. I have... things I need to settle here. I have Marge to bury."

Martin looked away, refusing to give in to the desire to take this man in his arms and kiss him soundly, his heart already breaking at their parting. He tried to maintain a stoic attitude as he raised his head and said his final goodbye, then he turned away, quickly sliding into his rental and driving off. He paused at the junction, eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror to see Brent still standing there. Viciously shoving down the desire to turn the car around and go back, Martin pulled away.

When he reached the hotel, he drew up into a parking space close to the entrance and switched off the engine, leaning heavily onto the steering wheel and burying his head in his arms. Several minutes passed before he found the strength to climb out and go to his room.

He showered slowly, sluicing away the day's sweat while he imagined it was Brent's hands caressing him. Finally, he grasped his still softened sex and pulled gently, letting thoughts of Brent fill his mind and ignite the slow burning flame in his body. He groaned softly as he felt the ghost-touch of fingers caressing him, silently willing them to touch him harder, to stroke his flesh with firmer strokes and pinch the sensitive flesh of nipple and inner thigh. His lips recalled the pleasure of Brent's taste, and the firm pressure of his mouth. He groaned louder, hips rocking into the fist of his own hand as he imagined it was Brent's hand or Brent's mouth wrapped around his engorged shaft.

A knock on his hotel door slammed him back to the real world, and he gasped out his disappointment as he hit the cold to before turning off the faucet completely. He left the shower stall, padding to the door clad only in a thick white hotel towel that revealed almost as much as it hid.

There was no spyhole so he called out, "Yeah?"

"It's Brent."

Martin froze with his hand on the latch, the soft voice echoing though his already sensitized flesh, sending fresh arcs of electricity racing through his nervous system to ignite every nerve ending. He opened the door, and the first thing he noticed was that Brent had shaved, revealing the softness of his skin beneath the bristles. Martin felt a flush of embarrassment as he recalled the roughness of bristle when they had kissed the night before, wondering how it would feel to kiss Brent again right now.

"Can I come in?"

Feeling foolish for his errant thoughts, Martin pushed open the door wider and watched as Brent stepped into his hotel room. He closed the door behind him, hearing the soft snick of the latch taking hold. Brent stood at the center of the room, his frame taut and muscles bunched as if ready for flight. He stared down at the crumpled covers adorning the double bed, then turned to face Martin, his eyes shining like liquid pools of the softest sea green, pupils slowly dilating until they swallowed the sea of green in dark fathomless depths of inky black.

"I want..."

He croaked out the words, one hand reaching for Martin and snagging the skimpy towel that did little to hide Martin's body. The towel dropped to the floor in a sodden heap, unnoticed as Martin stepped forward to press his frame against the length of Brent. Mouths met in open, wet kisses, devouring each other with a hunger that could not be satisfied in any other way. Martin tugged at Brent's shirt, pulling it from the waist band of his pants, his hands reaching under the soft cotton to brush over the silky skin beneath, his fingers finding one small nipple and playing with the tiny bud until it peaked in search of more attention.

His lips mashed against Brent's, his tongue demanding knowledge of every millimeter of the tempting mouth, stroking and licking the tender flesh, battling with Brent for ultimate possession. His hands found the opening in the shirt, tearing it apart as he fought to reach the soft skin beneath, wanting all of Brent to be exposed. Martin plundered the welcoming mouth, the trailed down Brent's vulnerable throat, sucking and biting the creamy flesh as he tracked a path of love bites down the exposed parts of the strong chest.

His hands busied themselves within the zip of Brent's denims, quickly opening them and dragging the strong material down Brent's hips and over the sweet curves of his ass, freeing the excited column of flesh that rose from a bed of dark blond curls. Gently, he pushed Brent down onto the bed, carefully covering him with his body and gasping as his hard shaft brushed across the six-pack stomach, colliding with the firm evidence of Brent's arousal.

Martin rocked slowly but so sensually against the willing body lying beneath him, reveling in the feel of Brent's firm flesh.

Ecstasy came too soon as felt the warmth of Brent's release between them, grasping him in a tight hold of pleasure and spinning him upwards. His semen spurted between their close-pressed bodies as he spiraled to the very edge of darkness, plummeting back down to fall gasping to one side of Brent's heaving chest.

Clean male sweat and the musk of sex filled the air around them, and Martin rose onto one elbow to look down at the first man he had ever made love with. The pale blond eyelashes fluttered as a dreamy smile swept up the corners of Brent's kiss-swollen lips. Martin knew he had a silly grin on his own face as he darted down to press soft kisses upon Brent, his fingers trailing through the evidence of their mutual pleasure.

He pulled back, his eyes taking in the expanse of white bandaging, but he could see no lines of pain upon the contented face, and only pleasure still glowing in the sleepy, desire-darkened eyes.

With a groan of reluctance, Martin pushed off the bed and padded to the bathroom, returning moments later with a freshly rinsed wash cloth, having quickly wiped his own body clean. He stroked the dampened cloth over Brent's heated flesh, taking time to study every line of muscle and bone within view. He dipped the cloth into the indentation of Brent's navel, looking up at the slightest squirm and the hint of a giggle, his lips parted in a mischievous grin.

"Ticklish?"

Brent's free hand lifted to stroke across Martin's face, and he leaned into the open palm, pressing a kiss into it before rubbing his cheek against the warm skin. He finished wiping away their mingled semen, and dropped the wash cloth onto the bedside cabinet, then settled down beside Brent, drawing the light blanket up over them.

His hand draped across Brent's firm abdomen, finger pads smoothing over the silky flesh and tugging at sparse golden hairs.

"Why?"

"Because I've wasted so many years already... and because I couldn't let you go without giving you a reason to come back to me."

"Will you stay the night?"

Brent smiled sleepily. "Don't think I could move even if I wanted to... and I don't want to."

Martin grinned and lay down beside Brent, feeling the heat of his lover's body along his side. He closed his eyes, knowing from the deepening breaths that Brent was already falling into sleep, and dreamed of the pleasure of waking with this man still beside him.

-ooOOoo-

Morning came too soon, heralded by the strident buzz of the alarm clock, which was cut off abruptly. With it came the realization that they had only a few hours that they could spend together before Martin had to catch his flight back to New York. Brent raised his head, his sleep-filled eyes focusing on the clock's digital display, noting that Martin had set the alarm for seven a.m. He knew A.D. McGraw would expect to see Martin at the eight-thirty meeting that had been arranged yesterday and he sighed deeply as his head fell back onto the pillow, eyes closing with contentment.

He felt Martin stirring beside him once more and he opened his eyes, smiling warmly at the face hovering above his, and watching the tension melt away from the deep blue eyes, leaving them soft and content. The gentle pressure of their meeting lips added to the perfection of the moment, filling Brent with a slow burning desire that warmed him from the inside. A tingling sensation crept through him as every nerve ending rejoiced in the pleasure that only Martin had ever given to him. He gasped as Martin's lips slipped away to kiss and bite along his jaw and down his throat, following the marks left from last night's passion.

Brent reached up to trail his fingertips down the silky skin of a straining biceps, feeling the power in the muscle as it supported Martin's weight. All the while, he wished that his other hand was not strapped across his chest, and he wished that all of his flesh was exposed to Martin's caress of tongue, lips and teeth. He moaned as those sharp, white teeth found the single exposed nipple, sending spikes of pleasure piercing through him. Brent's hand trailed after Martin's smooth flesh as his lover moved down the bed in his exquisitely slow exploration, eventually only able to reach the short strands of soft brown hair on Martin's head. His fingers played with the curve of one ear, pinching the lobe in surprise as Martin's tongue delved into his navel, sending a delightful shiver through him.

"You liked that?"

Brent grinned at the pleased expression lighting Martin's handsome features as Martin turned to look back up at him.

"Oh... not too sure. Maybe you better do whatever you did again."

With that, Brent pushed Martin's head back down and was rewarded with a nip of sharp teeth. He yelped but Martin soothed the small playful hurt with his tongue, with the tip delving back into the natural indentation, sending more shivers racing through Brent. Further nips and licks tracked across his belly, and Brent held his breath when Martin's cheek nudged against his hard erection, knowing that this was new to both of them.

He gasped softly as Martin's tongue snaked out tentatively to lap at the dewdrop of precome beading at the tip, feeling the velvet roughness against the sensitive bundle of nerve endings. More delicious sensations raced through him, heating his blood to near boiling point. He had never felt this good before, and the part of him that could still think despaired at his inability to reciprocate. He wanted to touch Martin too. He wanted to see those incredible eyes lose focus, becoming lost within a maelstrom of sensation. He wanted to trace a path of fire down Martin's firm flesh with tongue and hand, tasting the salt and musk of his skin while his touch ignited the passion flaring between them.

Martin's hand wrapped around Brent's engorged flesh, his fingers touching him there for the first time as he carefully licked at the fresh dewdrops of precome beading on the head. The strong fingers worked their magic on Brent, encircling him in a tight fist, sliding up then down in firm strokes that sent wave after wave of pleasure rolling over him. He couldn't hold on any longer. He didn't want to hold on. He wanted to soar; knowing Martin would be there to catch him as he fell from the dizzying heights.

Brent cried out as ecstasy washed over him, his fingers tightening on the short strands of Martin's dark brown hair as he rode a wave of intense pleasure. He whimpered as the sensations ebbed, leaving him adrift on a warm, still ocean. Martin crawled back up the bed and kissed him soundly, his eyes sparkling with delight at the gift he had given, but he gasped as Brent's hand found what it was seeking, and wrapped around the velvet-covered steel of Martin's morning erection.

Brent knew he could not offer Martin the same depth of exploration and pleasure at this encounter for his shoulder wound restricted far too much movement. Still, he wanted to touch Martin intimately; he wanted to stare deep into the crystal blue eyes and see the pleasure of his touch send Martin into that small oblivion.

It was all so new to him, and yet it was so similar too. He caught Martin's eyes, holding him captive by look alone as his fingers recalled the way they brought his own body to solitary pleasure. Brent smiled as Martin's cheeks blushed warmly, hearing the short gasps of need, and feeling the tiny thrust of his pelvis as he tried to fuck the hot, tight channel made by Brent's fingers.

The pungency of male sex and sweat increased as Brent smeared precome over the flared head, delighting in the whimpers elicited as Martin thrust harder into his hand. He saw the exact moment when Martin reached his climax, seeing the desire-darkened blue eyes glaze over and then roll back with passion nanoseconds before he felt the heat of Martin's ejaculate coating his still busy fingers.

So beautiful!

And then he despaired anew at his inability to reach out and draw Martin into his arms, wishing he could devour the kiss-swollen, parted lips and steal away the ragged breaths, smoothing them with his own.

-ooOOoo-

Martin collapsed down beside Brent, breathing heavily, with one forearm draped over his eyes as he fought to slow his racing heart. He had sensed Brent's frustration at not being able to give as much back to Martin but at this moment, with his body thrumming with sated pleasure, he knew Brent's fears were groundless.

"You okay?" Brent's soft voice held a hint of concern, yet Martin couldn't stop the silly grin that plastered his face.

Was he okay?

No. He was far more than just okay. He felt fantastic. Last night had been wonderful, and yet it had been a frantic and proverbial fumbling in the dark compared to their lovemaking this morning, with two almost strangers groping for mutual satisfaction against the incredible intimacy they had just shared. Last night they had fed the lust burning between them, but this time they had bathed in the desire that could only be satisfied by the other. It was a revelation for Martin, rejoicing in the masculinity of his lover, and feeling the power of strong muscles rippling in belly and thigh as he tasted the salty, bittersweet juices beading from the desire-hardened flesh; knowing that *he* was the reason for his male lover's passionate response.

And he knew it could only get better... as long as they could find a way to stay together.

That thought burst the bubble of happiness. How could they stay together? He was a city boy, at home with the bright lights and fast pace of city life, but Brent was a small town boy.

Martin doubted that Brent could handle the confusion of city life with its flashing neon and never ending streams of traffic. He could see Brent becoming lost within the press of humanity and machines, where the air was filled with exhaust fumes and the natural sights lost within skyscrapers or stone, steel and glass. And what would Brent do there? Would he willingly accept an NYPD ranking, becoming one of many when he had been the top dog in the Cherry Falls Sheriff's Department?

The alternative -- that Martin leave the city behind and came to live here in Cherry Falls -- seemed equally daunting. Could he deal with the slow days where the most excitement the town had seen in twenty-five years was this one case that he had been called to work on? He had listened to Brent describe the life of a small town sheriff, and though the town had similar problems to the city with vandalism, burglary and occasional drunken brawls, these were far fewer in number and far less violent. In comparison, New York was a simmering cauldron of racism, murder, rape, theft and any number of other terrifying crimes that happened daily, but it more than made up for its dark side with the richness of culture, the amazing manmade sights and its pure zest for life.

Cherry Falls boasted a single multiplex theater showing only the latest blockbuster releases from Hollywood, and a single theater where amateur productions took place for most of the year, occasionally usurped by a professional traveling theater company. The only house of ill repute lay outside the town boundaries -- though still within Brent's jurisdiction -- and the antics there were whispered about behind hands at the local ladies' sewing circle.

New York had Broadway offering plays and musicals and theaters offering movies from every culture and for every walk of life. It had Carnegie Hall, and dozens of museums and art galleries guaranteed to stimulate all the senses. And there was a buzz in the air, like electricity, that tingled deep inside, making it an exciting place to be.

Yet, for Brent he would willingly consider leaving New York... but that would also mean leaving Jack's team. It would mean leaving behind all the things he had trained and pushed for in his life. He would be walking away from colleagues who had come to respect him as a person rather than despising him for being his father's son. He would be walking away from the most amazing, stimulating, rewarding work he had ever done, where there was no greater high than returning a missing person to the bosom of their family.

But he would do it if Brent asked, deciding it a small price to pay for having this man beside him, though inside a small part of him he prayed Brent would not ask that of him.

The trill of his cellphone broke through his darkened thoughts, and he picked it up off the bedside cabinet.

"Agent Fitzgerald... Yes, Sir." Martin disconnected the call and looked across to see soft green eyes watching him carefully. "McGraw's brought the meeting forward to eight... and Danzig's accompanying me on the return flight."

Uncertainty filled Martin as he read sorrow in stormy eyes that had been glazed in passion only a short time before. He reached out to brush one finger over the full lower lip, fingernail scraping over the small indentation that was most noticeable when Brent pouted. Brent reached up and grabbed his wrist, bestowing a kiss on the finger that lingered close to his lips.

They both realized that this would be their last intimate moment for the foreseeable future, for there would be little opportunity for time alone before Martin's flight. The best either could hope for was the chance to take a late lunch together before Martin and Danzig left for the airport, but there was no guarantee that they would dine alone.

"Once I've seen to... to all I need to do here, I'll come to New York."

"You know, it's not so much I don't want to go... I just don't want to leave you."

"When did we turn into a pair of romantic fools?" Brent chuckled, though his laughter was tinged with a little sadness. "Why don't you grab the shower while I order up room service."

Martin's fingers drifted over the heavy bandaging that hid most of Brent's upper torso, leaving gaps of exposed flesh only on the right side; flesh that Martin had carefully marked in his exploration of Brent's body the night before.

"You sure you want the hotel owner to know you spent the night here? You could slip out--"

"It's okay. It's not like a have a reputation to worry about anymore. I can already see the main headline blazed across the front page here in the Cherry Falls this morning. 'Gay Sheriff's wife murdered'." Brent laughed without humor. "Small town mentality. Plus this is the most they've had to write about in years." Brent's eyes widened in shock. "What about you, though? Maybe I ought to go before some reporter starts sniffing around and catches us here together."

Martin pressed down on Brent as he started to rise. He leaned over and kissed him soundly. "To tell you the truth, I don't care. Let them see us together. This might all be new to me but I'm not ashamed of what we did together... and I'm not ashamed of you... and I don't want to lose you."

Only scant inches apart, Martin could see genuine pleasure push aside the sadness in Brent's green eyes, and he heard the soft voice.

"Then all we have to figure out is how we can stay together."

Martin opened his mouth to make an offer to stay with Brent in Cherry Falls, but Brent forestalled him, pulling Martin's face down those last few inches and sealing his words inside with a kiss. The kiss deepened, passion flaring anew as Martin sought to possess Brent for the last time. He moaned as they pulled apart, wanting the kiss to last forever.

"Let's explore all avenues before we make any sacrifices."

Martin shook his head and bestowed a chaste kiss on the perfect lips before he pushed off the bed and padded towards the bathroom. He turned on the threshold. "Toast, and eggs over easy."

Brent smiled, and Martin grinned back happily before stepping into the bathroom, and back into the shower cubicle. This time, as he showered away the sticky residue of their lovemaking, his thoughts lingered on the man in his bed and his hopes for their joint future.

-ooOOoo-

8 a.m.  
Conference Room  
Cherry Falls Sheriff's Department

Martin pushed through the door and took his seat with only a few seconds to spare, offering up a silent apology for not being there sooner.

"Now we're all here, let's begin. I want to go back over everything we know about the case, and the events leading the death of our main suspect."

McGraw listened carefully, asking for additional information where pertinent. The Forensic expert mapped out the evidence they had obtained from the Markens' bathroom, even providing a computerized enactment of the murder of Loralee Marliston based on the blood splatters. However, there were no hairs or fibers that would be admissible in identifying the murderer for, apart from Loralee's bio-matter, all the rest had a valid reason for being there.

Only the partial thumbprint lifted off the bottle of hair dye linked Marge Marken to the crime. But had she been the killer or an accomplice? Certainly, she had the knowledge and experience for beautifying the dead after her short stint as a mortuary beautician, so she was the most likely suspect for changing Loralee's physical description in the hope of hiding Loralee's identity.

However, there were too many anomalies that pointed at Marge having an accomplice, though the only other set of prints found in the bathroom came from Jody Marken.

Virginia Allen had mentioned that she received a call from a distressed Marge while waiting to board her flight back to New York. The call had disconnected before Virginia learned of the problem, and a check on her phone records proved that she had received a call of around 15 seconds duration at 10:22. Certainly, that call came within the estimated time frame for Loralee's murder.

Why had Marge disconnected that call to her sister-in-law? Or had someone else been present and snatched away the cellphone, disconnecting the call?

There was still the matter of how the killer transported the body to the lake. Forensics had checked the Marken's station wagon and Sheriff Marken's patrol car, which Marge might have had access to while her husband was in hospital. They had even checked Virginia Allen's rental just in case the estimated time of Loralee's death was out by an hour.

McGraw listened as Martin related all that happened the night he had been forced to shoot and kill Arnold Grazer. Marge Marken had already been dead by the time Jack Malone and his people arrived at the scene, and the fact that Grazer was still trying to force the whereabouts of Loralee from Brent Marken proved that no one had heard any last minute confessions from her.

Extensive questioning of Jody Marken had revealed nothing. She had witnesses who could vouch that she had been at Cherry Falls hospital the whole evening, alternately sitting with her father and her injured boyfriend. Also, her Aunt Virginia could vouch for the time they had spent together that evening up to 9:00 p.m. However, Jody's witnesses only saw her as they worked their hourly rounds leaving plenty of time for Jody to go home, kill Loralee, return to the hospital to keep up her alibi while her mother changed Loralee's looks, and then return later to help her mother dispose of the body.

However, they were back to the same question. How did they dispose of the body? Any tire tracks at the lake had been washed away by the rain leaving no evidence behind, and dragging the lake had not produced Loralee's clothing or anything she might had been wrapped in for transportation: blanket, bed sheet, plastic sheeting... nothing.

With a sigh, McGraw looked at his wristwatch and saw that it was almost midday. Unless they could find another piece of evidence to link Marge and/or Jody Marken to the murder then they had no choice but to declare it unsolved for the time being.

As McGraw closed the meeting, he gazed at Martin Fitzgerald, wondering if Martin was aware that Brent Marken had been seen entering his hotel room last night -- but not leaving. He gave a wry grin. He could tell just by looking at Martin that more had gone on than just talking, and his initial thought had been to send Martin out of this meeting, citing a conflict of interest. However, Martin had insights that they needed, and Jack had convinced him that both Martin Fitzgerald and Sheriff Marken had integrity.

Marken knew that his wife and daughter were the main suspects in the murder of Loralee Marliston, and he had done nothing to hinder the investigation. Instead he had complied fully with McGraw's requests, though McGraw knew that Marken had a solid reason for cooperating; he was seeking to exonerate his daughter by helping them to prove her innocence.

Innocence, McGraw thought. Innocence had been the root cause of all this: one innocent boy and one innocent girl, yet they had dealt with the loss of their innocence in different ways. The girl had blamed the child and blackmailed her rapists, while the boy had denied himself the freedom of choice, and paid for his supposed crime by trying to help others.

Silently, he hoped that Jody Marken was innocent too... for her father's sake.

-ooOOoo-

Five Days Later:

Brent had expected to see a request for his resignation lying on his desk and was surprised by its absence. Yet, he knew the leaders of the town had not looked favorably on the recent events that could be traced back to him. He gave a half-smile; wondering if they were afraid to ask for his resignation in case he accused them of homophobia. They would not want to deal with more bad publicity, especially after Harold McKay's startling testimony that had almost turned Brent into a hero. Or perhaps the people of the town just liked to support the underdog, taking pity on him after reading of how he had 'suffered' over the years.

Whatever their reasoning, he still retained both his position and his paycheck as Sheriff of Cherry Falls, though Mina had covered most of his duties since Leonard Marliston's attack on him.

"What are you doing here, Sheriff?" Mina took off her hat and placed it on the desk. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for the funeral?"

"Just checking if I still had a job to come back to afterwards," he smiled wryly.

She sighed, loosening the beige tie and undoing the top button of her immaculately pressed uniform shirt. The funeral would be held in just under an hour but Brent had left most of the final preparations to his sister, allowing her to oversee the wake. Although he felt very guilty for doing so, he had left Jody in her charge too. He needed this small respite before he had to deal with the best intentions of people who had cared little for Marge while she lived, yet seemed so overwrought with grief and anger now.

Funerals and weddings seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in people, with the highly charged emotions mending and breaking relationships in equal measure. For his own part, Brent would have to face the disgust of Marge's relatives, who would have shunned the funeral had they not wanted to feed their ghoulish hunger on him. He could already visualize the whispering and the sneers as they discussed aspects of his private life that had been laid bare by the media for all to see.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, he wished Martin had come to the funeral but he knew his presence would have only given the ghouls more fuel to burn at his expense. Under the circumstances it was far better that Martin stayed away.

Yet just the thought of Martin gave Brent a momentary lightening of his heart as he recalled how they had talked and talked last night until Jody told him to stop hogging the phone. He had laughed at that, sharing his recollection of all the times he had used similar words to her after she glued herself to the phone for hours, talking with friends that she had spent all day with at school.

His mood brightened further as he thought of the packed luggage and the flight tickets waiting for him once he had seen to his duty towards Jody's mother. Martin had promised to meet his flight even if he had to pay Danny Taylor to cover for him, and after five days apart, Brent could understand this desperate need to see each other again. However, he knew how easy it would be for law enforcement work to screw up any plans they made.

How often had he been pulled out of the theater or one of Jody's school activities by the vibration of his cellphone demanding his immediate attention? How often had he planned a quiet Saturday watching the football only to be called out before the game reached the third quarter? He had lost count of the number of films, games and school plays that he had seen only partway through, never seeming to find the time to catch up on the rest. He figured he had to be the only person in the country who had seen only the first half of both Lord of the Rings films even though they had played at the only theater in town for several weeks.

Law enforcement was his life though, and he knew Martin was bound by the same unspoken call to duty, especially as the Missing Person's Unit had been called in to investigate the disappearance of yet another little girl.

There had been misery in Martin's voice as he spoke of the similar MO to the Angie McCormack case, with all the team wondering if the little girl had already been abused, killed and buried in a shallow grave, awaiting discovery.

"It's acceptable for the bride to be fashionably late for a wedding... but not for the widower to be late for his wife's funeral."

"You're right. Just got to see this through and then I can get away for a few weeks. Spend the time sorting out my life." He looked at Mina askance. "You going to be okay for a few more weeks? Not getting delusions of grandeur and plotting ways to steal the throne?"

She laughed at his gentle teasing, falling back into their easy camaraderie. "Though if you should decide to 'abdicate'... then I hope you put in a good word for me first."

"The best," he grinned, and then he reached for Mina's hat and held it out to her. "Come on... I'll need all the allies I can get today."

-ooOOoo-

Missing Person's Unit  
New York

Laura Smith had been missing for 18 hours, and though Jack tried to keep positive, the signs were ominous as her disappearance mirrored that of Angie McCormack. Both girls had been out shopping with their mothers, both had left the safety of their mother's side and had disappeared. The storewide call had gone out and security had moved to every exit, checking the people leaving but there had been no sign of Laura. She must have been spirited away before her mother could raise the alarm.

It was every parent's nightmare, and one that he and his team faced on a far too regular basis.

Jack looked through his office window, seeing the intense concentration on every team member's face as they pored through the information so far collected. He had pulled them all back for a meeting, knowing that one piece of insignificant data from one of them might trigger something important in another. So many of their cases had been cracked that way, the small pieces fitting like a jigsaw puzzle... but they didn't need every piece to see the whole picture, just enough to figure it out.

He watched as Martin stood up and stretched, imagining the crackle of ill-used, stiffened muscle. Martin had barely left his seat since the call came in just after three, yesterday afternoon. He had spent the whole of yesterday evening with his eyes glued to his PC monitor, checking one security tape after another through the video link, only taking a break when Jack insisted.

Jack thought back to yesterday evening...

-ooOOoo-

"Martin? Martin?"

He frowned when it took two calls to get his junior agent's attention, and then he grimaced at the bloodshot, tired eyes that eventually met his.

"You need to take a break--"

"It's all right, Jack, I can keep going--"

"No. You need to take a break."

"She could be in the next--"

"And you'll miss her because you've lost focus." Jack sat down on the edge of Martin's desk with a fatigued sigh.

"The answer's in here somewhere, Jack."

"Possibly... Take a break, Martin. Go to the Lounge, make a coffee and eat a sandwich, and stare out the window for an hour."

Martin sat back in his seat in exasperation but Jack put on his sternest expression, one that brooked no argument.

"An hour?" He sighed heavily, rubbing his hand across eyes that had spent far too long staring at the computer screen. "Okay... one hour."

Jack watched as Martin pushed up from his chair with all the grace of an old man, seeing his stiff movements as he grabbed his dirty coffee mug then walked to the small area that the team called the Lounge.

The Lounge had been one of those staff ideas that had actually made a lot of sense. It was an anomaly. It was a place close enough to the work face to keep the mind on the job yet far enough away to allow some down time. The small distance between acted as a psychological buffer, giving a welcome release of pressure. Jack often used the Lounge to speak to distraught relatives of missing people as it did not have the formality -- and finality -- of an office. People spoke more freely there. They let down their guard just a fraction more, and sometimes they let slip innocuous anecdotes that gave greater insight into the person his team sought, or in one case, left clues to where they had hidden the body.

Martin stood for a moment by the window, looking out over the city and then he sat down and picked up the phone. When Jack looked back at Martin's desk forty minutes later, half-expecting to have to reprimand him for disobeying his order, he saw it was still empty. He looked across the floor and noticed that Martin was still in the Lounge, seeing a bright smile light the handsome face as he talked on the phone.

Something told Jack that Martin was not conversing with his father, and he could not resist the temptation to move closer. Body language had always intrigued Jack, and what he noticed was that the hours of tension and fatigue had drained away leaving Martin relaxed and almost carefree. Soft laughter filled the area, adding warmth that had little to do with temperature, though Jack felt the heated flush of embarrassment as he heard Martin say Brent Marken's name. He felt uneasy at overhearing what had to be a lover's triste, even if it was taking place long distance, by telephone.

He walked away, shaking his head and smiling, knowing Martin had finally figured it out and reached for Brent Marken.

Ten minutes later, Martin was back at his desk and eager to get back to work, and though the hour was not yet up, Jack relented, knowing the conversation with Marken had given Martin the relaxing break that he needed. Less than twenty minutes later, something caught Martin's attention, and he called for Jack.

Vivian and Sam were out in the field leaving Danny fielding calls from the public, but he came over to see what Martin had found. Jack frowned as he looked at the screen, not seeing anything out of place.

"It was something Brent's daughter said... about us acting like kids, and that Brent would be annoyed if she acted like a baby."

Then Jack saw it. He saw the pram pushed by a man who kept his face averted beneath a low-pulled baseball cap. The pram was not heavily loaded with shopping, and yet he seemed to need more strength than would be expected to raise the front wheels over the small but ill-placed step on the way to the main doors.

"He snuck her out in a baby carriage." Danny looked both horrified and amazed.

"Danny, get hold of Viv and Sam. Let them know we may be looking for a man with a pram." Jack laid a hand on Martin's shoulder. "Good job, Martin... but you know what I need you to do next?"

"Yeah... go back through all the tapes and see if he got careless and showed his face."

"And check the Angie McCormack tapes."

They had never figured out how Angie's killer got her out of the store, but Jack had a suspicion that they were going to find a man pushing a pram.

-ooOOoo-

His thoughts returned to the present as Martin finished stretching, then gathered up his papers and headed to the conference table. Jack joined him, waiting until everyone had taken their seats.

"Okay... I want to go over what we've got before Grainger's people arrive."

He listened as each outlined the work they had been doing, referring back to the white board where a picture of a pretty, smiling child gazed back at them. He face was a constant reminder of the human element for the conundrum they were trying to solve.

Martin had found the man with the pram in the Angie McCormack security tapes, and though the man had found no obstacles to traverse that time, it was obvious now that he pushed a heavier load than a baby. It sickened them all to think that little six-year-old Angie may have been curled up inside, probably sedated by the man who would take her to some secluded place then brutally assault and murder her.

The homicide team assigned to Angie's murder, led by Darren Grainger, arrived and took the spare seats around the table. By rights, as soon as the connection had been made between the two abductions, Jack's team should have handed all the work over to Grainger's team but A.D. McGraw saw the benefit of joining forces.

Another hour passed while they discussed avenues they could pursue, with no one willing to say aloud that Laura was already dead and cold in her grave.

Martin stood up. "I checked the FBI database for all similar abductions in the last three years from all major cities across the US."

Several eyebrows raised, though none were from Jack's team for they had become used to Martin's strange deviations. More than once his intuitive leaps had led them to solving a case, such as finding all the pedophile websites and narrowing them down to one in Texas. There, they had discovered a man pretending to be their missing boy's biological father in the hope of luring him into his sick trap.

"Nothing." Martin stared around the table. "In all cases, there was no record of any men with prams seen leaving the store at the time the child went missing."

Grainger shook his head and snorted. "Then what's the relevance?"

Jack answered that question. "Angie McCormack was the first one... the trial run." He looked up at Martin and saw the hope burning in deep blue eyes.

"He grabbed Angie... did what we wanted to do to her... then got rid of her fast."

"And he got away with it," said Danny with a bitter smile, "which means he might be more confident this time around."

"And hold onto her longer," added Grainger, finally understanding the relevance from the pattern he had seen in other cases of this type.

"The clock's still ticking, but she's slipping away."

His team understood his words, rising quickly from their seats and heading off to carry on with the tasks assigned to them. Jack did not know if time had already run out for Laura Smith, but he saw the renewed determination on every face, put there by Martin's belief that they may still be looking for a living child.  
Back to index  
Part 6 by Tarlan  
11:45 p.m.  
JFK, New York

The plane had landed fifteen minutes earlier but it took a while to taxi to the arrivals area and then allow the passengers off. Then they had to wait by the baggage carousel for their luggage to arrive, eventually seeing it slide down to start its circular journey. Brent felt a little guilty at seeing Jody and Ginny struggling to retrieve the heavy bags but he could not take the risk of placing too much strain on his healing collarbone.

Last time, one of the airport porters had assisted him, but Jody and Ginny had insisted that they were capable of coping alone. He watched as they dropped each heavy item onto the trolley, and then they made their way out. Brent had already forewarned them that Martin might be meeting them, and gained only two sets of raised eyebrows in response, and as he stepped through the arrivals gate, he scanned the crowd hovering close by, his lips curling to a wide grin as he spotted the familiar figure.

In such a public arena, both felt too self-conscious to do more than shake hands. Still, their hands held firmly for far longer than would be considered polite under normal circumstances, and Brent let all his pleasure at seeing Martin show in his eyes. Martin's eyes glowed in return, without a trace of the despondency and fatigue he had heard in his voice last night, as if seeing *him* was the icing on an already great day.

"Dad?" Brent broke away from the spell of Martin's eyes and looked at his daughter, having almost forgotten she was there. "People are staring."

His head whipped round to see curiosity in the eyes of those people still waiting for other flights, feeling the heat rush to his face. Martin commandeered the luggage trolley and started pushing it towards the exit.

"Car's just outside. One of the perks of being FBI... and having a boss who signed the docket."

"You making us official business?"

"*Important* business," Martin emphasized instead, smiling readily. His smile dropped just a fraction when they reached the little used FBI carpool SUV, and Brent saw Danny grinning back from the driver's seat. Martin raised an eyebrow but having all these extra people around had not made too great a dent in the pleasure of their reunion.

"Hey," Danny greeted them, stepping out of the car to help load the luggage into the back. He slipped back behind the wheel, seemingly unsurprised when Ginny climbed into the front passenger seat next to him rather than Martin, then surreptitiously, he angled the rearview mirror.

Brent shook his head, already aware of how intuitive Jack's team was and wondering if Danny already knew about him and Martin or whether he was still fishing for proof. They drove off in a pleasant silence, with the sense of laughter bubbling just below the surface. Brent grinned as he realized what would cause such a high for both these men but he waited until they had reached Ginny's apartment and had seen the two women inside before he spoke.

"You found the girl."

"Yes," crowed Danny, "And Martin takes the prize. He asked for the previous day's security tapes on a hunch the guy would have cased the store to see where the cameras lay. Got a great shot of the bastard's face... sorry," he apologized for swearing.

"We found him on the sex offenders' database, originally caught on a raid of credit card numbers given to a pedophile site for downloading compromising pics of little girls." Martin grinned in triumph.

"Raided a little hideaway he had close to Central Park, and found the girl -- alive."

"Had he hurt her?"

Some of their enthusiasm waned, and Brent did not need to know the answer to that, but at least they had found the girl and taken one sick bastard off the streets. An awkward silence fell, and Danny grinned broadly.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds and wait for you in the car, Martin."

He raised his eyebrows twice in quick succession, then strode off, leaving Brent alone with Martin for the first time in more than five days.

Martin laughed off his colleague's remarks, but he knew there was no need to apologize for Danny. Instead, he stroked Brent's slightly bristled, and then leaned forward until their lips met, his hand cupping the back of Brent's head. Brent closed his eyes and melted into the pleasure as the kiss deepened slowly, his free hand reaching round Martin's waist beneath his jacket to stroke the firmly muscled back through the cotton shirt.

They drew apart, and Brent licked his lips, still tasting Martin upon them.

"Tomorrow night... at seven. I know this great Italian restaurant." Martin grinned as he walked backwards, taking Brent's nod as unspoken acceptance. He turned on his heel and climbed into the front passenger seat, still grinning as Danny pulled away.

With a satisfied sigh, Brent stepped into the lobby and took the elevator up to Ginny's apartment. The door opened at his touch and he stepped inside, seeing no sign of Jody or his sister.

"In here, Bren!"

He followed the sound of his sister's voice and found her busying about the large comfortable bedroom, turning back the sheets on the double bed. His suitcase lay on a low table to one side.

"I set up an extra bed in my room for Jody.... thought we girls should stick together."

She pottered about and unzipped the case, throwing back the hard case lid. "You want me to--"

"No." He reached out and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then hugged her one-handed. "It's late. Let's get to sleep and unpack in the morning."

"Okay," she smiled. "You made a date with that young FBI agent?"

Brent knew he had reddened in embarrassment when Ginny laughed at his discomfort. "I like him a lot, Ginny," he started to say by way of explanation.

She pressed a finger to his lips. "He's gorgeous... and just what you need in your life."

Brent watched her close the door gently behind her, and then he sank to the bed, catching sight of the silly grin he wore in the mirror opposite. He shrugged his shoulder experimentally, wondering how much longer he would have to put up with the tight strapping. He wanted to be able to hold Martin and touch him without any restrictions.

Sighing, he pushed back to his feet intending to retrieve his toiletries from his case, wash up and then climb into bed.

As he rummaged through, Brent caught sight a strand of gold glinting from one of the castor wheels. He knelt down and examined it, pulling it free, and then stared at it. It was a short strand of hair, longer than his own, and yet both Jody and Ginny had dark hair.

A thousand explanations came to mind... but one lingered ominously.

-ooOOoo-

As the SUV pulled away, Martin gazed through the side window, taking one last look at the man he had grown to love and desire in equal measure in just a short space of time. A few weeks ago he would never have dreamed that even a small parting such as this could cause so much pain and yet elation too. He wanted to stay with Brent, wanted to make love with him, then sleep by his side and wake up with him in the morning.

The pain came from knowing that wouldn't happen tonight, and the elation from knowing he would see Brent tomorrow -- alone. As he turned to face the road ahead, Martin caught Danny smiling at him.

"What's so funny?"

"You, man." He chuckled aloud. "Thought you'd got this Lolita thing going for Jody Marken. Boy, was I wrong!"

"It's none of your business--"

"Hey, I don't have a problem with it... just a little surprised, is all." His voice softened. "Didn't know you were gay."

Martin saw the truth in Danny's expression and words, and he relaxed against the upholstery, staring out at the bright city lights. Neon signs flashed through store windows, only dimmed by the reflections of white headlamps and red tail lights as they followed the traffic at only a marginally better pace than during the daylight hours.

"Neither did I," he mumbled softly in a mixture of awe and surprise.

"Huh?"

Martin didn't bother to answer. He was uncertain if he could explain this overwhelming sense of freedom and joy; a joy that had filled him from the first time that he pressed his lips against Brent's. Every kiss given in the past had fallen upon female lips, and though he could not deny there had been pleasure, none had sent a shockwave of pure lust and need direct to his groin, sending him spiraling into breathless passion.

It still amazed him that he could become hard and wanting from just a kiss shared with Brent.

Unconsciously, he touched his lips, reliving the pleasure that still tingled in memory as his body burned to thrust against Brent's full length, wanting to feel the hardness of his need pressed tight against Brent's firmly-muscled belly. His mouth would seek out Brent's lips and flesh, feasting on the texture and taste of his lover, and satiating the hunger that had consumed him for so many days since their last parting.

"You okay, Martin?"

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, "Yeah. Just tired. Guess the day's finally catching up with me."

His eyes stared out the side window as the SUV moved through the still busy streets of Manhattan. This was the city that never sleeps; though off the main avenues the shadows lengthened as an eerie silence crept along the side streets. Martin knew that these shadows in doorways concealed the night activity of those who wanted to avoid being seen.

He half-listened as Danny's conversation turned to the case they had just solved, finding a grin as Danny's elation swept over him. Despite the lingering frustration of knowing Brent was so close and not being able to be with him, Martin relaxed further and shared in their triumph.

Tomorrow night, he thought, and the ghost of a sensual smile touched his lips in anticipated pleasure.

Eventually, they reached the FBI offices, making their way along corridors that held only marginally less activity despite the lateness of the hour. Jack was still in his office, which was not unusual as he hardly ever left early these days, but Martin figured that had more to do with having no one waiting for him at home since his marriage broke up. No one was supposed to know but it was impossible to keep secrets with people you worked with so closely.

He gave a crooked smile as he realized the same applied to him, wondering if Danny had been the last in the team to figure out the feelings he held for Brent Marken. It then occurred to Martin that Jack and Viv had probably worked it out before *him*, and had most likely figured out where his true inclinations lay while he was still blinded by denial.

The thought humbled him as he recognized that neither had changed their attitude around him, or treated him any differently to Danny. A friendly hand still dropped on his shoulder when he worked, and Jack still leaned in close to check something on the PC monitor, unconcerned that they were almost cheek to cheek. If he could have been assured of a similar reaction from his father then Martin would have been a very happy man right now.

Jack came out of his office and approached them just as Martin began to shrug out of his coat.

"I wasn't expecting to see either of you back here tonight. Go home. Finish up the reports tomorrow."

For once, Martin did not have the strength to argue. The adrenaline rush from finding Laura Smith alive -- boosted by his excitement at seeing Brent again -- had left his system, leaving him more tired than he cared to admit. He tugged the coat back into place with a nod of agreement, half turning away before he heard Danny call to him.

"You eaten yet?"

"Nah. Thought I'd grab something on the way home."

"There's a place about two blocks from here. Does burgers."

"McDonalds?"

"Hey, didn't say it would be haute cuisine."

Martin laughed, but his mouth started to water at the thought of food -- any food. "Sure... why not."

-ooOOoo-

7:45 p.m.  
Next Evening:

The restaurant was small and intimate, with candles on the tables providing the only illumination, and Brent raised a small, slightly embarrassed smile as he considered how romantic the setting seemed to be. Technically, this was their first date so perhaps it was appropriate in an oddball sort of way.

Despite having already slept with Martin, Brent felt a little unnerved as he glanced around at the other patrons, noticing the way each concentrated on their partner as if they were alone in the candlelit room.

"You come here often?"

"Two or three times a month... alone."

"Never mentioned you were a masochist, or a Peeping Tom." Brent narrowed his eyes in a make-believe frown but he could not prevent the twitch of his lips as Martin gazed around the room as if seeing all the couples for the first time. His laugh was soft and warm, filling the cold places in Brent's soul as he realized how strange it must have seemed for him to be seen dining here alone.

"You know, I never really thought about it... I mean, the pasta's to die for... and I--"

Brent reached across the table and touched Martin's hand, curling his fingers around the strong, slender ones lying on the table.

"I'm teasing you."

It occurred to Brent that he had never played the real dating game before. He and Marge had grown up together, drinking sodas and eating at the same table long before he had asked her to be his wife. On reflection, he could not recall a single romantic moment shared with Marge, with even the occasional sex approached as a spousal duty rather than a pleasure.

He felt a momentary stab of guilt as he realized how many of life's small pleasures he had denied to Marge because he had been too afraid to admit the truth of his sexuality. He had locked them into a loveless marriage, and perpetuated the lie of being a happy family until Marge's drinking revealed the rot lying beneath the thin veneer of their marriage.

Had she found a modicum of happiness in the arms of strangers picked up in the bars she frequented? Had they taken her to dark, intimate restaurants to shower her with some semblance of affection, or had her life become a series of bland motel rooms and a quick fumble in the back of cars?

He knew all about her extra-marital affairs, but had been strangely relieved that she had found companionship somewhere. Perhaps he had been too relieved, never questioning how many different lovers she had taken over the past ten or fifteen years, and uncaring as long as she did not bring them into Jody's home.

"Deep thoughts?"

The candle flickering between them softened the squareness of Martin's face, highlighting the high cheekbones and the arch of the heavyset eyebrows, lending him a demonic air that sent flares of excitement through Brent despite his heavy thoughts.

"I should have divorced Marge a long time ago... and set her free. Maybe she'd she still be alive now if I had. And maybe she would have been happier."

"Takes two to Tango, Brent. She could have divorced you."

Brent felt Martin's fingers loosen against his, and saw a flash of fear in eyes shining from a now shuttered face. Brent knew that his talk of Marge had induced this fear, and he tightened his grip on the fingers before they could slip away, speaking so softly that Martin had to lean forward to hear.

"I'm not on the rebound from Marge. What I... feel for you..." He trailed off, shaking his head slowly, and wishing he could find the right words to describe how alive he had felt since Martin stepped into his life. "This is special... and something this good has got to be right."

Martin's features softened, his fingers losing the tension of a moment earlier while his eyes shined with pleasure. Movement close by pulled their attention from each other long enough to acknowledge the waiter and pick up the menus, and Brent laughed gently when he realized they both felt a little embarrassed at the public display of affection.

By silent, mutual agreement, they dropped all discussion of Loralee Marliston and the events surrounding her, concentrating instead on the vast resource of anecdotes that each had built up in Law Enforcement. By the end of the meal, with a few glasses of wine and the good company mellowing them, it seemed a shock to step outside the intimacy of the restaurant into the still busy street beyond.

The late Fall breeze made them tighten their coats around them, and Brent could feel crispness in the air that heralded the coming winter. They paused on the pavement, face to face, looking for a clue to where they should go from here. Brent broke the tension between them.

"Ginny told me if I'm not in bed by ten... then I've got to go home."

He smiled hesitantly; fully aware of how Martin would interpret his words, and relaxed as Martin grinned. Exuding confidence that had seemed missing only moments before, Martin stepped up to the curb and hailed a taxi. Moments later the taxi was threading its way through the late rush towards Martin's apartment.

-ooOOoo-

9:45 p.m.  
Missing Person's Unit:

Jack stared down at the report that had been placed on his desk only a few minutes earlier, sorely tempted to leave it unopened until the morning. After all, whatever the report contained -- good or bad news -- it did not affect the Missing Person's Unit. He sat back in his seat and recalled the instigation of this report...

-ooOOoo-

11 hours earlier:

Jack had not expected to see Sheriff Marken walking in the office, and he watched and waited, wondering if he had come purely to speak to Martin. He watched them converse for a few minutes, and then he saw Marken hand something over to Martin. The grim set to Marken's face told him that it was important, and Martin handled the small plastic bag with care, his eyes flicking up to capture Jack's through the office window.

Jack felt a ripple of concern tighten his stomach as Marken followed Martin towards his office, and he wondered what they could be bringing him.

"Sheriff..." Jack indicated towards one of the two seats set out in front of his desk for visitors, and watched as Marken sank into one. He took a moment to study the other man, seeing the dark circles beneath the green eyes that spoke of restless nights.

"How can I help you?"

Martin laid the small plastic bag onto the desktop, and Jack leaned forward to study the single blond strand within.

"It's probably nothing... just something picked up in the wheel of my suitcase on the trip here from Cherry Falls..." His soft voice trailed off as Marken's color rose in his cheeks. He looked away and Jack guessed that he was feeling a little foolish for his paranoia.

"But you don't think so... or you wouldn't have brought it in."

Jack stared hard at Marken, seeing the acknowledgement in eyes that met his once more.

"I don't know what it is... or whose it is. All I know is that I'm not going to spend the next twenty-five years of my life regretting never finding out."

"Where do you think it came from?"

"My house."

"Not from the back of your sister's rental that you took to the airport, or either airport... or even the back of the FBI SUV that picked you up?"

"I don't know... maybe it came from any one of those places. Maybe it's one of Agent Spade's hairs from the SUV."

"Or maybe it had come from your house... and it's not yours, or your wife's, or daughter's."

Martin had remained silent throughout, and Jack turned to him now, only to find that he had eyes only for Marken.

"Martin. Run it down to Forensics and ask them to compare it against any names related to the Marliston case."

Martin snatched the small plastic bag from the desk and charged off with just the quickest touch of Marken's shoulder, leaving Jack alone with Marken.

"Whose hair do you think it is?"

"Loralee's... after it was cut and..."

"Why does it bother you then. We know she'd been in your house."

"Your people checked the downstairs thoroughly."

"You think she'd been upstairs?"

"Always kept meaning to move that suitcase. Can't count the number of times that castor wheel yanked a hair out when I brushed too close in the closet."

"You think she'd been inside your bedroom... inside your closet?"

Marken laughed self-deprecatingly, and he looked away. "Sounds paranoid when you say it."

"No. Not paranoid. She'd been stalking you for decades... except her hair was cut and dyed after her murder, so if it is her hair, then the killer hid her body in your closet until they could dispose of her."

"Doesn't sound too likely."

"No."

"So it is probably something picked up on the journey here... and I've wasted your time."

"There's still a reasonable doubt, so it's not a waste of time."

Jack had to excuse himself soon after to start work on another case but Viv escorted Marken to the Lounge to await Martin's return. By the time Jack looked across an hour later, Martin was back at his desk working hard and Brent Marken was nowhere to be seen.

-ooOOoo-

The report held a siren call, and against his better judgment Jack flipped open the top page and read the analysis of the single strand of hair. He gave a sigh of relief when the comparison against Loralee Marliston's DNA came out negative as the DNA had a XY chromosome, and hence had come from a male. But then he froze. The DNA in the blond strand had seven markers in common with Leonard Marliston, which meant that whoever had lost this hair was genetically related to the Virgin Killer. As Leonard Marliston had no brothers that implied that the hair had come from a male relative on the father's side -- or from the father.

Following that line of inquiry, a positive identification had been made. Jack looked up as A.D. McGraw filled the doorway to his office, with his face grim.

"Where did it come from?"

"Sheriff Marken found it caught round the castor wheel of his suitcase when he arrived in New York."

"Where's does he think it came from?"

"His closet at home in Cherry Falls. Apparently the suitcase had a habit of yanking hair out of the unwary."

 

"Then that begs a new question. What was Harold McKay doing in Brent Marken's bedroom closet?"

-ooOOoo-

Martin breezed into the office at his usual time but his ready smile and relaxed air made Viv think of one of those sated, sleek hunting cats that had not only caught the prey but had devoured it too. Of course, Brent Marken was no rabbit or mouse, and that had to make the pleasure all the greater.

She smiled sardonically, wondering if Martin realized how easily he could be read, and how the very air around him seemed to sing with some hidden charge. Cruder words sprang to mind as he gave an easy smile that radiated to all and sundry that he had spent a glorious night, though not necessarily sleeping for most part. She felt like laughing aloud with pure pleasure, walking across the few feet that separated them in a need to bathe in the warm glow of love surrounding him in the hope that it would smooth the jagged edges in her life.

"Somebody had a good night, last night. You look like the cat that got the cream."

She grinned as Martin blushed a fiery red, and this time she could not hold back a chuckle of amusement as her mind supplied a reason for those particular words gaining such a reaction. She patted him on the shoulder and walked away, pleased with the start of the new day but had gained only a few feet before Jack stepped out of his office and called to her and Martin.

Her smile faded at the look on Jack's face, seeing the concern written there. She exchanged a worried glance with Martin, saddened to see the sparkle of joy fade from his eyes, and followed Jack back into his office. Jack took his seat behind the desk and leaned forward, eyes downcast as if battling with inner thoughts. He looked up, with his eyes staring hard at Martin, and his mouth set in a serious line. Then his face softened momentarily before his expression hardened with new resolve.

"Viv, I need you to take charge around here for the next two days. Martin... you and I are going to Washington again. Pack an overnight bag."

To his credit Martin made no sound of complaint, simply nodding his agreement without question, though his eyes showed disappointment. Viv wondered if he had made plans for the coming evening -- and night; plans that had to be postponed.

"We going there for any particular reason?" He asked, obviously trying to regain some enthusiasm.

"Yes. To assist Homicide with an interview in the Loralee Marliston case. That strand of hair Sheriff Marken brought in belongs to someone who had no place in his home... Harold McKay."

"Brent... Marken implied his wife had taken several lovers over the years. Perhaps..." Martin shrugged.

"Forensics determined that the hair had not been detached for more than a month... which puts McKay in the timeframe for the murder. McGraw has agents checking out McKay's whereabouts at the time Loralee was killed, and he should have some results back by the time we reach Washington."

Martin nodded. "I need to cancel some plans I made--"

"I have a feeling that won't be necessary. Sheriff Marken will be joining us as an observer. I know it's unorthodox but he is still a law enforcement officer, and McGraw believes he may have information pertinent to this interview with McKay."

Martin's expression became almost comical; caught between pleasure, concern and confusion. "What sort of information?"

"Observations…" Jack spread his hands wide. "I don't know." He shook his head and grimaced. "We leave in fifteen, Martin."

Viv waited until Martin had left Jack's office before she sank down into the chair opposite.

"What's happened, Jack?"

He looked at her and waved a hand as if to brush away her questions. "McKay adds a high profile element to an already high profile investigation... and Martin is a Deputy Director's son."

"Jack?" Her tone held an edge of warning. She needed to know anything that might affect the smooth running of the unit, especially if Deputy Director Fitzgerald might be involved.

"The Media have photos of Martin... kissing Brent Marken... And they asked Fitzgerald whether having a gay son had influenced his decision for improving the 'don't tell and we won't ask' policy for the FBI."

"Oh Lord! And Martin doesn't know."

"Not yet. I had an early warning but it would have made the news cycle by now."

"So the dilemma was whether to leave Martin here in New York with the Press, or risk a confrontation with his father *and* the Press."

Jack gave a deep sigh and leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, kneading his temples with his fingers. "Not really. They want Martin to accompany me to Washington." He leaned forward again, one hand rubbing over his mouth and chin. "I didn't realize it had gone so far between them."

"Further than you think," Viv added wryly, and nodded at Jack's upraised, questioning eyebrow, then watching his eyes close in dismay as he deciphered her words. "You can't stop people from falling in love, Jack. Not even the ones you care about." Jack looked through the office window, as Viv noticed that Martin was ready and waiting for him. "So? Are you going to tell him? Or are you going to wait until someone else does?"

"I'll tell him on the way to the helipad."

"The helipad?!" Viv shook her head. "Must want you there pretty bad if they're going to spend money on another helicopter ride."

"But do they want me or Martin?"

"Or Brent Marken?"

Viv indicated with her eyes towards the lean, handsome man who stepped into the Missing Person's Unit with a small overnight bag in hand. Together they watched as Marken and Martin exchanged secretive smiles that failed miserably because everyone present had already deciphered their meaning. She had to smile as the two tried to remain detached but their body language screamed out 'Lovers' in the way their eyes met, and in the way their movements synchronized. She felt her cheeks heat as she thought back to her earlier words with Martin, recalling the way he had flushed with embarrassment. Her imagination took flight as she envisaged Martin and Brent Marken -- naked -- locked into a passionate embrace, mouth to groin, where they gave and received pleasure in equal measure. She gave herself a mental shake, knowing she ought not to be thinking about a coworker in such a way, even if it was a beautiful image.

She noticed Jack eyeing both men curiously and then giving a visible 'mental' shake, and she wondered if he entertained similar thoughts to her own. Jack picked up his overnight case and gave a small smile.

"I might be on suspension two hours from now... but I'm not going to let Martin deal with this alone. I'm his boss. I knew what was happening between him and Marken, and I did nothing to stop it. That makes me responsible."

"Don't take the blame too readily, Jack. You're not the only one who knew and still let it happen."

Jack laid a hand on Viv's shoulder as he passed, then beckoned to Marken and Martin, heading out only moments later with the two men following a few steps behind, once more grateful that she was not in Jack's shoes right now.

-ooOOoo-

One hour later,  
Washington DC

For once, Martin could only be glad that his father ignored him, not wanting to have an embarrassing scene out in the corridor in front of everyone. Still, he knew his father's disposition towards him by the square of his shoulders and by the anger vying with disappointment in his father's eyes on the one time they held his. He could barely remember a time when his father had looked at him in any other way and he could already imagine the words his father would say once they were alone. He could hear the accusations, that this was all just another rebellious attempt to gain his attention, and that he should 'grow up'.

No matter what Martin said in retort his father would twist his words around but, once more, Martin had no intention of allowing his father to interfere with his life. Brent was not some passing fancy, or a phase he was going through, and neither was he a means to hurt his father's reputation. What he had found with Brent held more meaning than anything else in his life, and Martin was not going to give him up just because Brent was male, and just because he did not move in the same social circle as the Fitzgeralds and McKays and Adnam-Whites of the world.

If his father wanted to stick a label on him then so be it. If he wanted to transfer him to some remote unit in Alaska just to separate him from Brent then Martin would have to consider resigning, but he would be damned before he would allow his father to dictate whom he could love -- or not as the case may be.

Agent Danzig led them to a small soundproofed room that looked through one-way glass into an interview room. Beyond the glass sat the man Martin had seen on the news bulletins, accompanied by his lawyer. Harold McKay was a sandy haired man with a figure that was tending towards middle-aged spread through too much easy living. However, he looked even more haggard now than he had when talking to the Press just a few days earlier. Still, now he knew what he was looking for, Martin could see the likeness between McKay and Leonard Marliston, confirming the DNA analysis that McKay was the father of Loralee's psychotic son.

His lawyer leaned over and whispered to him, and Martin guessed that he would be giving last minute instructions before the interview began.

The door opened and Martin's father stepped into the interview room with McGraw. They took a seat on the opposite side of the table and then identified themselves for the recording. Martin looked across the small observation room to where Brent stood motionless staring at the man he had once called 'friend' a life time ago. Every part of him itched to reach out and touch Brent, to let him know that he was not alone. He wished he could have spared Brent any further pain, not knowing what skeletons McKay would drag out from the closet for the whole world to stare at. It was bad enough that Brent's wife may have been having an affair with McKay.

As if sensing Martin's eyes upon him, Brent looked across and gave a weak, though reassuring smile. Martin could understand why they had requested Brent's unofficial presence. Although he had been hospitalized at the time of the actual murder, there had been a sequence of events leading up to that second fateful night following Leonard Marliston's rampage, and he would have been an integral part of that sequence. He might even have been an unknowing witness that could put people in places at the wrong time, with those memories triggered by McKay.

Martin concentrated on the interview.

"A strand of hair was found wrapped around the wheel of a suitcase that is stored in an upstairs closet in the Marken household. DNA testing tells us that it is your hair, and that it had been torn out around the time of Leonard Marliston's murder spree in Cherry Falls."

McKay conferred with his lawyer for a moment, and then looked back at Fitzgerald.

"I visited Cherry Falls several days after the killings. Bren was in hospital, and only family were allowed in to see him… so I went to see Marge. We... she needed... Things got out of hand and we ended up in bed. Someone came to the door, she panicked, and I hid in the closet like some cliche from a movie."

"And that's all there is to it? You're certain you were not there the night after the killing spree?"

"My client has answered the question."

Fitzgerald smiled tightly. "Why did you go to Cherry Falls that day?"

"Carolyn's my..." His eyelashes fluttered with grief. "...was my sister. Her husband was a good friend once and so I drove over to..." He shrugged.

"You live in Harton's Grove and that's... what... a two hour drive away?" McGraw asked.

"About that."

"Did you visit your sister often?"

"Occasionally... for birthdays, and once at Christmas a few years back."

Brent mumbled something, and Martin stepped closer, trying to catch his words, and seeing a frown on Jack's face. He waited as Brent looked away from the interview room, his frown matching the one that creased Brent's forehead.

"I never spoke to Tom Sisler directly that last day. It was a message passed along to me." His frown deepened "It took me an hour to get back and, by then it was dark."

Jack and Danzig remained silent, and Martin followed their lead, waiting for Brent to coalesce his thoughts. He did not have to wait long.

"Did Leonard Marliston force Tom to make that call to lure me to his office? Then why call only me? If he wanted revenge on all the boys who raped his mother, then why call just me?"

Martin caught Danzig's eye, seeing a dawning suspicion there even as he heard Jack's question. "Did anyone request copies of the phone calls made from Sisler's office on that last day?"

"Yes... but no one ever checked through them because Marliston was killed. I'll get on to that straight away." He disappeared through the door, closing it quietly behind him.

"What are you thinking?" asked Martin softly.

"I think Marliston wanted revenge on all of us, and Tom knew how to contact me and Harry, possibly Jimmy too."

"And if he contacted McKay, then McKay could have been in Cherry Falls that evening... and stayed through the next evening too," added Jack. "Martin, if there is a call placed to McKay, then that gives us enough probable cause for someone to get a court order to tow his car to Forensics, and check out the trunk."

Martin nodded and went in search of Danzig. He found him going through the calls made that night from Sisler's office, and Martin indicated the one that went to the Sheriff's office and would have been sent on as a despatch message to Brent. The one directly before was to a Harton's Grove number and it took only a moment for Danzig to confirm that this was the home number for Harold McKay.

"Jack says we have sufficient evidence to get hold of McKay's car--"

"And check out the trunk for Loralee Marliston's blood."

"You got it." Martin grinned and started to walk away but Danzig called to him.

"I saw the news cycle this morning. McGraw's been unusually quiet about it when I'd have thought he'd be pissed at the possible compromise of this case. Truth is, if McKay's the killer, and he walks because his hotshot lawyer has evidence thrown out because you fucked one of the witnesses, then he won't be the only one who's pissed."

Danzig walked away, leaving Martin staring at his back. He looked around, meeting the stony gazes of agents who had overheard and who knew what Danzig was talking about, already imagining the words that would fly once his back was turned. At least Danzig's hostility was genuine, and it was directed at him over the case rather than because of his father's interference or because of the gender of the witness he might have compromised. It had to count for something.

He turned away and walked back towards the small observation room, hearing a rise in the chat level behind him as he turned the corner.

Let them all talk, he thought. Let them all speculate and sneer, for nothing they could do or say would be worse than what he expected to face with his father once he had finished interviewing McKay. And even that no longer held the same level of fear. He was no longer a child. He had 'grown up' and moved from beneath his father's shadow, much to his father's disappointment, and this was the life he had chosen, and Brent was the man he had chosen to share his life with.

Brent eyed him worriedly when he re-entered the room, but Martin mouthed the words, 'I'm okay', and saw him relax slightly.

"Did I miss anything?"

"No. You made it back just in time." Jack nodded towards the opening door and Martin watched as Danzig laid the phone records on the table with the important one highlighted. McGraw saw the importance of this piece of information immediately.

"You stated that you'd had no contact with Tom Sisler for at least a week before his death." McGraw paused to wait for McKay's verbal affirmation. "Then can you explain this phone call made from Sisler's office to your home address on the night Tom Sisler was murdered?"

McKay looked at his lawyer, his eyes showing the shock of discovery.

"My client informed you that he was not at home that night, so he would not have received the call... and the duration of the call indicates that little conversation took place."

"An answer phone message perhaps?"

"I may have had a message... I don't recall." McKay looked like a hunted man now, with his eyes refusing to meet McGraw's.

"I do believe you were out that night, but I also believe you found this message on your answering machine the following day, and you drove to Cherry Falls when you found out about the killings."

"This is all supposition. You have no evidence to place my client in Cherry Falls before the day he admitted to being there. Unless you have something else to produce, then this interview is over."

McGraw smiled tightly and spread his hands in acknowledgement, waiting until McKay stood up. "I wouldn't leave town for a few days. We may have a few more questions."

McKay did not bother to acknowledge either McGraw or Martin's father, and then he left the room with his lawyer close on his heels. McGraw stepped out of the interview room and into the observation room.

"I think we have our murderer."

"No," said Brent quietly. "Harry was always good at lying because he manipulated the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"I think he came to Cherry Falls the night after Marliston's rampage. I think he went to see Marge, and that they... I think someone came to the door, and I think Harry hid in the closet. I mean, it wouldn't look good for Marge or him if they were caught having sex while I was still in a critical condition in the hospital."

"No, I suppose not," added Jack thoughtfully. "So you think the uninvited visitor was Loralee. And you think your wife killed her, and then McKay helped her to cover up the murder."

"Yeah."

Danzig stepped back into the observation room and handed the court order to McGraw. "We'll have his car in our Forensics lab within the hour."

McGraw nodded his approval, and then he turned back. "Jack... Agent Fitzgerald... I need to speak with you both in private."

"I think this concerns me too... so I'd like--"

"No. This is an internal matter, Sheriff."

Martin caught Brent's eye and shook his head slightly, asking him to drop it. If this was the formal reprimand then he had been expecting it, and he could only be grateful that it would be McGraw rather than his father making it. He followed on behind Jack and McGraw; glancing back only once to smile his reassurance to the lover he left behind.

-ooOOoo-

The rest of the day went past in a spin for Brent. McGraw's people asked for a formal statement of what he could recall from the night the boys had raped Loralee, and then he recounted the events twenty-five years later that led to the deaths of too many innocent kids and two adults -- Tom Sisler and one of Brent's deputies.

By the time he had gone from there to cover all the events occurring from the time he left the hospital, the day had drawn to an end with night already fallen. In all this time he had not seen either Martin or Jack Malone, and no one could answer on their whereabouts. Eventually, Agent Harris told him they would go over his accounts one more time tomorrow, and then disappeared to organize transport for Brent to the hotel where he would stay overnight. When he returned a few minutes later, he frowned.

"Do you need to see a doctor?"

Brent frowned in return, and then realized Harris was referring to the injured shoulder and arm that he was rubbing. "No. Had a check up the day before yesterday. It's all healing well… just a little sore still."

"I cracked a collar bone as a kid when I fell off my bike. Hurt like hell." Harris looked away. "There's your ride, Sheriff."

"Thanks." Brent took a few steps away then looked back. "Harris, if you see Agent Fitzgerald... or Malone, then can you tell them where I am?"

"Sure."

Brent followed on behind the agent assigned to take him to the hotel, responding with monosyllabic answers to questions posed until the guy got the message that he had talked enough for one day.

It was a relief to drop down onto his bed in the silence of the hotel room some time later, and he kicked off his shoes and lay back on the covers, stretching out. He had not meant to sleep but the tapping at his door drew him back to a room illuminated only by the bathroom light that he had left on with the intention of having a quick wash before sleeping. Checking through the spyhole, Brent was pleased to see Martin standing outside. He pulled open the door wide and drew Martin inside, closing the door behind him.

"So? You still part of the FBI?"

"Yeah... McGraw hauled me over the hot coals, and then he said we could return to duty. No suspension, no reprimand in my jacket. I didn't know what to make of it and I was about to tell him not to play favorites because of my father, but Jack dragged me out." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "Jack knew about us... before we did. He took responsibility for my actions, Brent. He was willing to take a reprimand and a suspension on my account--"

"Except McGraw knew about us too, so he couldn't reprimand and suspend Jack without asking your father to do the same to him." Brent smiled, shaking his head. "I'm glad it worked out. I didn't want anyone else suffering because of me."

Martin stepped forward and brushed the knuckles of his hand along Brent's cheek. "Suffering would be losing you."

He leaned in and kissed Brent, letting his lips linger softly upon Brent's for a moment before deepening the kiss. One hand cupped the back of Brent's head while the other stroked from shoulder to the curve of his ass before kneading the firm flesh and pulling Brent closer, groin to groin. Brent sighed into the pleasure of the kiss, his one good hand flitting from the short brown hair to the delicious curve of Martin's ass before moving up to tug at Martin's dress shirt and ease beneath to caress the heated, silken flesh.

He wriggled his hips, grinding the hardened mass of his need against the evidence of Martin's arousal, enjoying the delightful moan Martin made that reverberated through them both. Martin pushed back, staring hard at Brent, with his ocean blue eyes lost in a darkened sea of desire. Sharp white teeth chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip, and then a devilish smile raked over his strong features. He started to tug Brent's T-shirt from his pants, holding Brent still with a 'don't you move' glare, and then his fine boned fingers dipped to the fastenings, quickly popping the button and lowering the zipper, parting them and dragging them down until Brent stood in just boxer shorts with his pants pooled at his ankles.

He waited; wanting to see what Martin would do next, and gasped as Martin knelt down in front of him, mouthing his erection through the cotton of his boxers, letting him relive memories of the previous night. He remembered the pleasure of Martin's hot mouth enveloping him, and draining every drop from him and then sharing the reward in a deep kiss. He could still recall the taste of his bittersweet semen in Martin's mouth, but the memory slipped away to be replaced with new sensations.

Strong fingers toyed with the waistband of his shorts, slowly easing them over his straining flesh and then letting them drop to his ankles. Carefully, he lifted each foot in turn and Martin eased away the material, casting it aside, and then gently pushed Brent's legs apart while his tongue and lips did incredible things to his shaft and balls that sent sparks of pleasure tingling through Brent, making his toes curl and his body sway off balance.

He laughed as Martin caught him before he fell, his hand grasping at the short strands of Martin's soft brown hair, steadying him momentarily. Martin eased him back onto the bed, standing above him in deep contemplation before quickly dragging off all his clothes and leaving them in a tidy heap on the chair. He stood before Brent once more, with his proud shaft nudging against powerful stomach muscles, and his body clean and strong-limbed with just a smattering of curls between the pectorals. Brent looked down the length of the beautiful torso, seeing the jewel of precome glistening on the hard flesh, and feeling strangely overwhelmed to know that all this need was directed at him.

He frowned as Martin stepped away, searching through his jacket, but there was no mistaking the triumphant smile when Martin turned back to face him. Martin dropped the coveted objects onto the bed beside Brent, and the only question that remained would be who used which of the items, and strangely, even that did not matter in the slightest.

Martin straddled Brent's hips, sitting back so his smooth, firm ass pressed against Brent's thighs. He had retrieved the tube of gel, his nimble fingers making quick work of flipping the lid and squirting a very little amount onto his fingers. He smoothed the gel between thumb and forefinger, and smiled before reaching down to grab Brent's hand. The gel he squirted onto Brent's fingers felt warm and frictionless, with his fingers slipping easily, and then Martin's intentions became very clear as he rose up onto all fours. Balancing carefully, he raised one hand to guide Brent's towards his opening, and Brent could see him trying to relax as he eased in one finger to breach the tight muscle.

He watched Martin's face carefully, seeing the flash of pain as he pushed his finger inside, and he froze all movement. "Are you sure?"

"Never been more certain. Just a little nervous." He leaned down and kissed Brent intensely. "I want it. I want you."

Carefully, Brent eased in again; slowly stretching the muscle and feeling Martin relax and start to rock gently in counterpoint. Blue eyes opened wide; his body tensing and muscle clenching around Brent's finger.

"No! Don't stop! God! That was... Do it again."

Martin pressed back onto Brent's finger and moaned, his body losing the last of its tenseness, the sight of Martin's raw pleasure sending fresh surges of lust through Brent until his softened shaft stood proud and wanting once more. Brent added another finger, pushing gently inside the hot channel of flesh and muscle until Martin pulled away completely, sitting back up on Brent's thighs. Martin reached over and grabbed the other packet, ripping it open and quickly rolling the condom down the length of Brent's hard shaft. He repositioned himself above Brent, with muscles corded on his thighs from holding himself aloft, and his hand gripping Brent's condom-covered erection as he guided it to the prepared opening. Martin gasped as he let his weight drop onto the hard column of Brent's flesh, and Brent felt momentary concern as tear drops glistened at the corners of the screwed up eyes.

Brent remained motionless with their bodies locked together, groin to ass, feeling the amazing sensation through the ultra-thin latex, of hot flesh clamped tight along the whole length of him. He waited for Martin to make the next move, bracing himself as Martin rose an inch or two then sank back down, gasping at the incredible spikes of pleasure that sang through his nerves with each movement. He looked down at the joining of their bodies, mind flying with awe as he saw Martin's thigh muscles quiver as he rose up higher this time in one smooth movement, entranced by the sight of his flesh disappearing inside Martin as he dropped back down just as smoothly, only to rise again. His one hand reached between them, caressing both his and Martin's flesh at their joining, then he looked up into eyes that had lost all defenses, completely open and vulnerable as they held Brent's.

The moment burned into Brent's mind, never to be erased as he accepted the love and trust so freely offered, and then nothing else mattered except the incredible friction against his sensitive glans, and the feel of Martin's hard shaft in his hand. They climbed together and he grinned as Martin came, coating his fingers, belly and chest in his essence, with his internal muscles quivering, and igniting Brent's passionate release.

He whimpered in loss as Martin climbed off to lay down by his side, but then sighed as he felt a strong, sweat-slicked arm drape across his heavily perspiring abdomen. Fingers climbed beneath the T-shirt he still wore, tugging at a few chest hairs that had escaped the strapping of his shoulder, and rubbing over the single exposed nipple, sending an echo of spent passion through him. Then, with shaky fingers, Martin found and stripped off the used condom, dropping it into the wastebasket by the side of the bed.

"Hate this strapping," Brent whispered. "Feel so useless."

Martin sniggered softly. "Some people pay good money to be trussed up during sex."

Brent snorted at the thought, and then they fell into a comfortable silence until he felt compelled to ask the question that rose in his mind.

"You staying all night?"

"If you want."

"I do want."

"Then I'd best clean us both up so we can get some sleep. I'm going to need my sleep. It's not going to be that great a day tomorrow. I have a ten-thirty scheduled with my father." He snorted derisively.

"Don't be too hard on him. He most likely believes everything he says and does is for your own good. Just hasn't realized he's got to let go sometime, and let you live your own life."

"Well... He had all these plans for me... and I suppose he sees me as a big disappointment. He wanted a corporate lawyer or a stockbroker for a son, and got an FBI agent. So he swallowed that disappointment and set me up to work on high profile, white-collar crimes, but I chose blue-collar instead. Burglaries rather than frauds... and then the Missing Person Unit." Martin paused and grinned. "He wanted me to marry some buck-toothed socialite, uniting two wealthy families... and once more I disappointed him. But I stand by all my choices... and the only way you get rid of me is if you walk away, because I'm playing for keeps here."

Brent smiled at the total conviction in Martin's tone and in his eyes, feeling the warmth of belonging flooding through him for the first time in his life.

"Then we'd best get cleaned up and get some sleep."

His smile widened to a grin as Martin slipped out of the bed and walked stiffly towards the bathroom, knowing he was the main cause of Martin's physical discomfort. Brent swallowed hard when Martin was momentarily silhouetted by the bathroom light, feeling his stomach flip over in a mixture of lust and awe. This was one part of the rollercoaster ride -- that was his life -- that he hoped would never come to an end.

-ooOOoo-

Waiting outside his father's office in the FBI headquarters in Washington brought back memories of all the other times when he had been ordered in to see his father for one reason or another. As a child it had been a harrowing affair for even though his father had never used corporal punishment on him for his wrong doings, he had a way of making Martin feel small and worthless -- and unloved.

In more recent years he had been ordered here whenever something he said or did had not met with his father's approval... including his decision to join the FBI. He had all the necessary qualifications garnered from his expensive Ivy League education to join one of the top law firms in Washington, but his heart had never been in it. Instead he had worked hard just to please his father, and then spent the rest of his time learning about computers and databases and statistics -- to please himself.

Where his father enjoyed staring across a board and working out all the permutations for winning a game of chess, Martin had preferred hunting through reams of data in search of a single incidence that might be the missing part of a massive jigsaw puzzle. It was why he enjoyed being on Jack's team so much. Every day brought a new puzzle to the board, and he had loved jigsaw puzzles since he was a small child. The cut and thrust of the courtroom held as much appeal as playing chess, and he knew that even the thought of spending hours working through ledgers and accounts, day after day after day, and for the rest of his career, would leave him bordering on the suicidal.

Most often he had caved in to his father's demands purely because he had been unable to formulate the arguments needed to counter any points raised. On most occasions where he had gone his own way regardless, it had been a pyrrhic victory, affording neither of them the glory. Still not all of his triumphs had been empty gestures for some had led to Jack's team, and the rest had led him towards this new certainty of who he was, and what he wanted from his life.

Silently, he wondered if his father had always seen this part of him that was attracted to men, perhaps unconsciously trying to force him away from this path that he had not seen until Brent Marken stepped into his life.

Martin looked around the plush office and frowned. For the first time in his life he had no tremors of fear racing through him as he waited to be called into his father's inner sanctum, and he did not feel any anger or frustration building that would be released as childish accusations of being unloved by his parent. Instead he felt calm, with his mind and body still basking in the warm glow of Brent's possession from the night before.

"He'll see you now, Agent Fitzgerald."

Martin rose to his feet and strode forward without hesitation, reveling in the slight muscular ache as he recalled the pleasure that had overwhelmed the initial pain. Its existence gave him greater confidence for it reminded him that Brent would be waiting for him, no matter the outcome of this meeting.

His father was seated behind his oversize desk, reading through papers neatly stacked before him, and he did not bother to look up when Martin approached. Martin smiled wryly, understanding the psychology but not why his father would choose to use it upon him.

"Sit down, Martin."

He raised his head to meet Martin's eyes; with his own narrowed in anger and his mouth a tight line but then looked taken aback when he discovered that Martin was not standing before him in defiance. Instead, Martin had taken a seat as ordered, thereby breaking the routine of all their previous 'discussions'.

Martin leaned back in the chair with his posture neither too casual nor aggressive, exuding a self-confidence that had come from losing his fear of his father. Finally, he understood that his father was just a man who felt he had the right to dictate the path of his life because he had fathered him. But only one person had that right, and that person was Martin Fitzgerald -- though he had no qualms in allowing Brent a little power over him. In fact, he cherished the idea of trying to make a life with Brent, hoping that they would be able to find some form of compromise once the dust had settled over Cherry Falls.

His father pulled a file from the stack and opened it, removing several photos that he placed on the large expanse of desk facing Martin. Martin stared at each one as it was revealed, unable to stop the raising of his eyebrows at the clarity of the images, and unable to stop the slow smile and warmth in his groin that was stirred by the memory. His fingers itched to reach out and touch the clear image of his lover, remembering the feel of Brent's skin beneath his questing fingers.

"What's so funny, Martin? Because I can't see anything to smile about."

Martin looked up, the smile still lingering at the upturned corners of his mouth. "First, is this a formal interview... junior agent to Deputy Director? Or is this father to son... dad?"

His father looked flummoxed, as if he had not thought of the two being different.

"Then let's deal with one at a time." Martin looked away for a moment to collect his thoughts. "I screwed up. I became involved -- in every sense of the word -- with an important link in several murder and kidnapping cases. My actions may have compromised the Loralee Marliston murder case."

"That's unlikely as all evidence collected so far does not rely solely on the word of Sheriff Marken."

"I know."

His father sat back, looking perplexed. "Then why say it?"

"Because it's what you want to hear... that I'm a screw-up, and that I lost objectivity when I became involved with Sheriff Marken. You want me to say I'm sorry."

"And are you sorry?"

"As an FBI agent... yes."

The silence lengthened, and Martin could see uncertainty in his father's eyes. This was not going the way his father had expected.... But then his eyes hardened.

"How could you do this to your mother?"

Martin grimaced; knowing the formal part of the interview had come to an end. Now it was personal.

"This isn't about her, or even you, dad. This is about me and who I am."

His father raised a hand and shook his head, about to make the same old comment from whenever Martin tried to explain why he did what he did, or wanted what he wanted. However, Martin refused to be sidetracked into a variation of that same old argument.

"This isn't some passing fancy or a rash I picked up that will go away in a few days, and it isn't some childish idea I'd thought up just to hurt you. This is who I am... it's just taken me a long time to figure it out."

"And Marken?"

"He's the one who made me see the truth of who I am... and he's all I want."

"And what makes you think he wants you?" His father's eyes held a familiar gleam. "What makes you think he's not using you to figure out if he's the way his so-called friends implied all those years ago?" His father leaned all the way forward. "What makes you think he cares anything about you except as a quick, naïve fuck to decide if he wants a man or not?"

Martin remained silent, knowing his father did not expect an answer to any of his questions.

"And what happens to you once he's buried his wife, decides he prefers women after all, and goes looking for a replacement wife?"

Just a few days ago, Martin would have heard his father's harsh arguments and gone on the defensive, starting a battle of caustic words that would have ended with one of them walking away, and him feeling frustrated and unloved. Instead, Martin recalled Brent's words from last night -- 'Don't be too hard on him. He most likely believes everything he says and does is for your own good' -- and for the first time, he saw through the words to the hidden meaning.

"You can't protect me from every hurt, dad. And if you really knew him... you wouldn't be so afraid for me."

His father looked shocked for a moment, and then his defense shields went up to the highest setting, and his face contorted with anger.

"Oh, I'm not afraid for you, Martin. I'm afraid of the disrepute you'll bring upon your mother and me. You are not a nobody who can do as he pleases. You are my son, and certain things are expected of you. And this... this..." He stabbed viciously at the photos of Martin kissing Brent. "This *is* just a passing phase. In fact, it is a *past* phase."

Martin almost laughed aloud at his father's audacity, but he could see that his father was deadly serious, and fully believing that he had a right to tell Martin to break off his relationship with Brent.

"I'm sorry, dad, but that's not going to happen."

Martin pushed to his feet and started to turn away, but then he turned back and gently lifted one of the photographs. It had been taken just moments before their lips met, revealing such vulnerability and love between them that it shocked him to know that his father had looked upon this photograph and could still demand that he part with Brent.

"Martin? This isn't over. I didn't give you permission to leave."

"At this moment, I'm Martin Fitzgerald... your son... not Agent Fitzgerald, FBI agent. I don't need your permission to leave, dad."

He closed the door firmly behind him, leaning back on it for a second with eyes closed, and when he opened his eyes he saw Jack standing by the outer door that led into the corridor beyond. Jack gave him a bleak smile and beckoned him to follow, and Martin pushed away from the door. They walked in silence until they reached a quiet area like the Lounge back at their office, and Martin watched as Jack fed some change into a coffee machine, making an offer to buy two, which Martin gratefully accepted.

"I gather it didn't go well."

"There was a moment... just one... when I really thought I'd reached him. Damn it, Jack, why can't he accept me for who I am? Why does he have to keep pushing?"

"Because he loves you."

"Yeah, sure." He saw Jack wince at his sarcastic tone but some of his father's words had reached the vulnerable part deep inside Martin. "What if he's right? What if it all comes to nothing... And Brent realizes I'm not what he wants."

"It's a gamble you have to take... though I'd put the odds in your favor."

Martin sighed and stared off across the expanse of office. "I've never felt this way about anyone before."

He placed the photograph on the low table, his finger stroking over the image of Brent Marken, curling his fingers back when Jack reached for the photo. He watched as Jack took a long look at the picture, finding his own smile returning as the corners of Jack's mouth lifted.

"I consider myself a good judge of people and what I see here is love -- in both directions." Jack looked at Martin. "Of course I've had more than just this photo to make my assessment. I've seen you together, and I've seen you apart." Jack's smile faded as he placed the photo back onto the table in front of Martin. "Don't let your father come between you. Give him time to accept how it is. He will come round eventually." Jack indicated towards the photo. "This will all be forgotten soon enough, once the Media has a killer to focus on instead of you."

Martin nodded and sipped at his coffee, letting his thoughts drift away from his confrontation with his father. "Which brings us back to McKay. Why no word on the car?"

Jack's expression turned sour. "The car had been professionally cleaned... thoroughly. Forensics went all over the trunk and underneath looking for anything the valet service might have missed. Nothing. Danzig's people are back in Cherry Falls trying to find anyone who can put McKay there at the time of the murder."

"Damn!"

Jack shrugged. "Personally, I believe Marken's right. I believe McKay was there... but I don't believe he killed her."

"Have they checked credit card transactions... in case he bought gas or a meal?"

"In process... But unless they find something to link him to Cherry Falls on that day, then his lawyer will ensure he walks."

Martin snorted softly. "My father wanted me to be a lawyer."

"Mine wanted me to make a career in the armed services."

Martin shrugged. "You carry a gun... and you work for the Government… so he kind of got what he wanted."

Jack smiled. "And you make cases against criminals." Jack drained the last of the coffee from his cup. "We have a flight back to New York scheduled in two hours."

Martin took the hint and finished his coffee, dropping the cup into the trash as he followed Jack.  
Back to index  
Part 7 by Tarlan  
Dulles Airport  
Washington DC

Brent felt as if he had spent the last few weeks of his life alternating between hospitals and airports, and he knew that this pattern would not come to an end for some time. He planned to stay with Ginny until the strapping came off his shoulder and arm, and then he would need to return to Cherry Falls to finalize arrangements. He knew he could expect several sessions of physical therapy to help strengthen his arm after the enforced immobilization for all these long weeks, but at least the pain was tolerable now. Despite this, he carried a packet of aspirin, meaning to take a couple as soon as he was settled into his seat on the plane, hoping they would kick in by the time they took off and would take the edge off any discomfort from the squashed seating.

Brent glanced at the man seated in the waiting area beside him, feeling the warmth pressed along the uninjured side of his body that sent pleasure rather than annoyance through him. Martin had said very little about the outcome of his meeting with his father, which in turn implied that it had not gone well but whatever words had passed between father and son had not altered the brightness of the smile and sparkle in Martin's vivid blue eyes when they met afterwards. Brent looked beyond to where Jack sat on the other side of Martin, watching the passengers moving through the final check-in procedures as they boarded the plane. As Federal officers on official business, Jack and Martin could have gained preferential treatment but he knew they rarely claimed it on the grounds that it would advertise their presence to anyone intending malice onboard. Instead, they waited until last so they could board the aircraft carrying firearms without raising too much interest.

For Brent, this knowledge highlighted his sense of vulnerability. He had become used to carrying a gun for, in his line of work, he was never off duty but he had not carried one since Leonard Marliston's attack. His injuries made it impossible to wear a shoulder holster, and the police utility belt with holster was far too bulky, especially for snug airplane seats.

Finally, the line of passengers grew shorter so Jack stood with Martin following. Brent accepted the offered hand and allowed Martin to assist him to his feet, and then they joined the back of the line, waiting patiently until they reached the desk.

He watched as Jack handed over all the necessary permits and papers, waiting for them to be verified before stepping beyond the desk. However, as Martin stepped through, Jack's cellphone trilled and he answered it, listening intently, with his eyes rising to meet Martin's and then Brent's. He ended the call with an affirmative, and then stepped back into the waiting area, offering his apologies to the airline staff as he drew him and Martin out of earshot.

"McKay bought lunch on his credit card in Cherry Falls on the day Loralee Marliston was murdered. McGraw's pulling him in for more questioning, and he wants us back to observe."

They made good time back to FBI Headquarters, arriving only minutes before McKay with his lawyer. Brent pulled up a seat close to the mirror this time, feeling a little tired after the brisk walk back through the concourse to the airport's exit. He closed his eyes while he waited for McGraw and Deputy Director Fitzgerald to appear and start the interview, but he looked up when a hand dropped onto his good shoulder.

"You okay?"

Brent smiled up at Martin and nodded, and then he reached for the aspirin in his pocket, having no energy left to argue when the packet was taken and two tablets popped from the blister pack.

"Thanks."

His attention returned to the interview room as the door opened, feeling Martin's increased tenseness as his father stepped into the room alongside McGraw. They got down to business immediately, giving McKay no time to formulate a defense as they launched into the discovery of the credit card receipt that placed McKay in Cherry Falls on the day of the murder.

A small battle ensued as McKay's lawyer attempted to invalidate the transaction, and then another argument, this time between McKay and his lawyer.

"No. No more. I'm sick of all the lies. I've had to live with the first set of lies for twenty-five years, and I don't want to face another twenty-five waiting for *this* to blow up in my face." He turned to McGraw and Fitzgerald. "You want the truth? Well... here it is..."

-ooOOoo-

The meeting had finished late, and then came the entertainment at an exclusive club for gentlemen that went on well into the night. By the time he reached home it was the early hours of the morning, and though the orange light blinked entrancingly, he decided to ignore the messages sitting on his answer phone. There was little in his life that held such great importance that it could not wait until the morning.

He slept a little later than usual, mainly through fatigue rather than overindulgence in alcohol, as he tended not to drink so heavily these days, especially among strangers and business associates.

The blinking orange light beckoned to him as he came into the kitchen, already showered and dressed. He pressed the recall button, half-listening to the usual prattling of sales pitches and propaganda, and the occasional offer to buy lunch in return for certain business favors. He stopped when he heard Tom's voice, and listened, perplexed by Tom's request for a meeting right away.

The call had been placed yesterday evening, and Harry frowned as he wondered at the tenseness in Tom's voice. He knew Tom and his sister had not been getting on too well recently, and Tom had confided in him that he had learned about her affair with Wayne Wright.

The next call chilled him to the bone as he heard his sister's almost hysterical voice saying Tom was dead. She gave no explanation, and he felt an icy clutch on his heart as he considered the possibility that Tom had confronted Carolyn and Wright -- and ended up dead.

Harry tried calling her back but gained no answer; his fear climbing. Within minutes he had canceled any meetings for the day and was heading towards Cherry Falls.

Keeping below the speed limit seemed impossible that day and Harry was glad that, for once, there seemed to be no police cruisers around. He made good time in reaching the small town, which had been his home for the first seventeen years of his life. It was only then that he became aware that he had neglected to eat that morning, and he decided to stop, eat and gather his thoughts before charging into his sister's home.

Harry pulled into the old diner at the edge of town and ordered a meal, recalling the times when he, Tom, Jimmy and Bren used to meet up here for burgers and a chance to flirt with the pretty waitresses. Of course, Bren had never been that interested but he had always put that down to having Marge as his girl.

Damn, he had thought. How he had envied Bren for winning the heart of the beautiful Margie. She was the girl of his dreams; the only girl he had ever wanted but no one could compete with Bren. He was everything a boy or girl could desire. He was an amazing athlete, and the best quarterback they had seen in Cherry Falls since forever. Bren was good looking too, with blond hair and soft green eyes and the sort of mouth that all the girls fixated upon.

Even he had to admit that Bren was beautiful; sculptured like one of those Olympian athletes carved out of marble. Bren was everything Harry dreamed of being, and he held the heart of the one girl in Cherry Falls that Harry wanted above all others -- but Margie wanted Bren, and it seemed she was not alone. All the girls wanted Bren; all except for Carolyn who had already staked her claim on Tom.

Although he had blond hair too, Harry knew his eyes were an washed-out blue and his lips too thin, making it look as if he was constantly sneering. But the girls would flock to Bren, and Harry managed to snare a few , knowing they were only enduring the evenings of kisses and heavy petting for the chance to get closer to Bren, in the hope that he would notice them.

Harry thought about the last time he had been here without Bren. He had take some perverse pleasure when Tom had started questioning Bren's sexuality, almost hoping it was true and dreaming of scenarios where he would sweep a distraught Margie away from Bren... and then came that terrible night where they had been too drunk for sense, and too sober to pretend it had never happened.

Bren and Loralee had not been the only virgins that night, and Harry had been keen to prove that he was not also some closet gay; willingly raping Loralee's almost comatose body, not once but twice. On the first time, it had been the thought of having her *before* Bren that spurred him on, knowing that, for once in his life, he would have beaten Bren at something -- losing their virginity. He could still recall her drunken, unresponsive body and the blood on his penis when he withdrew, and once the three of them had taken their turn, they fetched Bren, dragging him up from the road where he had fallen after tripping over his own drunken feet.

On reflection, it did seem strange that Bren had been so drunk when they had been keeping pace that night -- bottle for bottle. It had given him an air of superiority, believing he had one more triumph over Bren, which was the ability to hold his liquor. Only later did Tom admit to lacing Bren's drinks with LSD.

Harry's thoughts came back to the diner and he watched as another patron raised a newspaper, his eyes widening in shock as he read the main headline. He snatched up a second complimentary copy from the stand and read through it quickly, discovering the terrible truth that Tom had been murdered, and that Bren lay in a critical condition in hospital.

Harry knew as soon as he read the name Marliston that this had something to do with Loralee, for he had been paying blackmail money to her for the last twenty years. The horrific murders of several kids shocked him, and he knew instantly that Tom had died at the hands of the child borne out of their rape of Loralee that night.

Harry paid for the meal quickly, using his credit card as he had not thought to pick up any cash in his rush to get to Cherry Falls.

He tried his sister's number again but there was still no answer, and his next thought turned to Margie. She would be at the hospital, waiting to hear news on Bren, so he headed straight there intending to offer her comfort only to be turned away by the hospital staff with the knowledge that Margie had not once been seen near her husband's side. It did not take much effort to locate the Marken address, and by mid-afternoon, he stood on her doorstep, hesitating before ringing the bell in fear that she would not recognize him after all these years.

His fears were groundless as she gave him the soft, sweet smile that he recalled from their youth and called him gently by name. They talked for hours, sharing the past twenty-five years with all its misery and triumphs, leading up to the horror of last night when Leonard Marliston had tried to take his revenge on the town that had allowed four of its sons to rape his mother and then turn their backs on her as if she had been little more than a whore.

Except both he and Margie knew of Bren's innocence that night long ago. At the time, seeing Bren incapable of taking Loralee had been Harry's greatest triumph over Bren, and he had eagerly raped her again just to prove his victory while Bren lay semi-conscious on the ground beside him. Oh, it had felt so good, and he had felt so strong and powerful as he took Loralee while staring down into Bren's glazed eyes.

Harry was not sure how it happened, but as the evening fell, he and Marge moved by mutual agreement to the bedroom, slowly stripping and eventually making love; his pleasure all the greater in knowing that she had led him to Bren's bed rather than her own.

Several times the phone rang, demanding attention, but he had not needed to force her to ignore it as both of them had been unwilling to face the realities beyond the warm bed and loving body in their embrace. He had his dream in his arms, and it did not matter that Marge was drunk for she knew who he was, and she wanted him.

And then they had heard the insistent ring on the door bell that neither could ignore.

In a moment of panic, Harry grabbed his clothes, and allowed Marge to push him towards the closet. He tried to tug on his underwear and pants, biting his lip to stop a yelp of pain as something caught at his hair, tugging several strands loose. By the time he had dressed he felt more confident, and sneaked from the closet. He drew to a halt at the top of the stairs, hiding in the shadows as he listened to the three sets of voices below. One of them was Marge, and he heard her raise her voice...

-ooOOoo-

"Three?" McGraw interrupted. "You heard three sets of voices?"

"Yes... but I didn't hang about to find out who the other two belonged to. I crept down the stairs and slipped out the back door. Ran to my car which I'd had the foresight to park some distance away, and drove off. And I didn't stop until I got home."

"Tell me about the voices."

"They were all female."

Brent's lips tightened, his muscles tensing as he waited for Harry to tear his world apart by revealing the third person present that night. He prayed it wasn't Jody, unsure if even Martin's love could sustain him through the knowledge that his beautiful daughter had been an accomplice -- or even the murderer. As it was, it had hurt to hear Harry spill all his resentment of him, and he wondered how he could have been so blind in his youth, walking through his life in a complete daze, unaware of all the people trying to get close to him.

How many people had he hurt with his seeming indifference?

He swallowed hard as Fitzgerald asked Harry if he recognized the other two voices, or saw the other two women.

"I recognized Loralee by her hair, with that white stripe. The other one was small and dark-haired... and pretty despite the bruises..."

Brent closed his eyes, knowing the description fit Jody, and he squeezed his eyes shut to try and stop the tears as Martin's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"...and she wore a police uniform."

His eyes snapped open in shock. "Mina?"

-ooOOoo-

"Agent Harris is still in Cherry Falls. He can pick her up--"

"No." Danzig seemed taken aback by the authority in Marken's still soft tone. "I am the Sheriff of Cherry Falls, and Deputy Mina is one of my people. The murder of Loralee Marliston should have come under the jurisdiction of my office... and not the FBI. This has been neither a serial killing nor a killing that crossed state boundaries." Brent looked to Jack. "And no official missing person's case was ever raised for Loralee Marliston."

Jack nodded agreement with some reluctance. "There was no official case."

Danzig huffed in annoyance. "Evidence of foul play was uncovered by FBI agents at the scene of the cri--"

"And the Cherry Falls Police Department is grateful to the FBI for all the support--"

"You can't let her go, Marken," ground out Danzig in anger.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't plan to... but I have the right to deal with my own people."

Jack stepped forward, silencing Danzig with a look. "Sheriff Marken. May the FBI assist you with the interview of Deputy Mina?"

Brent looked to Jack with gratitude, sharing a moment of respect in knowing they both cared about their people, for right or wrong.

"I'd appreciate that, Agent Malone."

He had known Mina for several years and had trusted her to watch his back when answering calls. He owed her the chance to explain what had happened that night, and why she deliberately misled both him and the FBI investigation by hiding the truth of her involvement. Within two hours he was back in Cherry Falls, accompanied by Martin, Jack, Danzig and McGraw. He took a deep breath before alighting unable to dredge up even the smallest of smiles as he reached Mina.

"Sheriff?"

Brent could not help the sorrow and pain that crossed his face, and he saw her features relax in understanding. She gave him a sad, rueful smile.

"I'm sorry, Bren."

"I know you are... but we need to hear it all now."

She nodded, and mustered a brighter smile. "To be truthful... I'm glad." Her gaze flickered beyond him to the FBI agents. "Interview room 3 is the largest."

She handed her service revolver to Brent, turned and walked inside the building, leaving them to follow in her wake, only stopping once she had reached the interview room and had taken a seat. She waited for Brent, Jack Malone and A.D. McGraw to settle, knowing the other two junior agents would be observing through the one-way glass, and then she began...

-ooOOoo-

Several Weeks Earlier:  
Cherry Falls General Hospital

Mina looked about the darkened corridors, knowing she could have left for her home hours earlier but she hated the thought of leaving. All the kids she had failed to protect were lying in rooms on this floor. Some of them in critical condition after Leonard Marliston had slashed his way through the party of kids as they tried to find a partner willing to take them off the Virgin Killer's list of potential victims. The morgue had gained three new bodies tonight to add to the four kids already lying there, and Mina had known one of them well. Perhaps too well.

Her heart ached in her chest as she thought of the deputy killed by Marliston; the single stroke of the axe almost cleaving him in two from head to shoulders. He had been her lover, and she had learned of his death only after Marliston had taken his final breath, when Jody described how she and Kenny had raced to a deputy seeking safety only to see him murdered before their eyes.

It hurt now to realize that the blood splattering their clothing had been her lover's. It hurt more when she thought of the empty house and lonely bed awaiting her whereas it had been filled with his warmth only yesterday morning.

She cared little for the other two bodies gracing the morgue for one was Leonard Marliston and the other was Tom Sisler -- the man who had set these terrible events in motion all those years earlier.

The next few hours would determine if other innocent victims would lose their fight to live and join them on the cold slabs though, as much as she feared for some of the kids, her greatest concern was for Brent Marken. He was another innocent caught up in the obsessions of others, as proved by the letters found in Marliston's basement when paramedics and other deputies raced to save his life.

Brent had always been supportive of her, even taking her on when two other local sheriffs had turned down her application for no apparent reason leaving her little doubt that their bias had been based on the fact that she was female. Instead, Brent had judged her on her abilities rather than her gender, giving her the chance to prove herself.

She owed him.

None of the nursing staff or doctors questioned her as she moved through the corridors, looking in on the kids as they slept amid the tubes and wires that monitored their condition while their parents hovered over them. Mina made no attempt to speak to those parents, knowing they would not welcome her presence right now even though she shared their grief and rage at the loss and injury to people she loved and respected.

She found Kenny Ascott's room and saw his young face looking too pale even against the whiteness of the pillow. His mother held his limp hand in both of hers and Mina could swear her eyes never left her son's face, perhaps in fear that when she looked back he would be gone.

Bitter tears rolled down Mina's cheeks in the knowledge that she could not hold her lover's hand and definitely could not look at his ruined face. Their relationship had been clandestine in nature, with moments snatched whenever Jeff felt his wife too preoccupied to notice his late homecoming following his duty shift. Now there would never be another secret moment spent together. They would never again spend a few stolen hours together after the day shift, making love while his wife believed he was out drinking with his colleagues. Nor would they slip to her home at the end of the late shift, falling into bed amid passionate kisses and caresses, and then lie together until the sun rose less than an hour later. She would never have to bite back the words that asked him to stay as he reached for his crumpled uniform with the intention of dressing and returning to his oblivious wife.

Jeff was dead, and she felt as if she had failed them all: Brent, Jeff and the kids. She had promised Brent that she would protect these kids and, even though she had been the one to end Marliston's life as he made one last attempt to take another child into death with him, so many others lay wounded inside this hospital tonight.

Mina sank back into the shadows opposite and sat down on the small bench lining the wall, quietly reflecting on the terror that had brought all of them to this place. Her eyes caught movement and she remained motionless, unwilling to draw any attention to her presence. She tracked Jody Marken's approach, watching as she disappeared inside Kenny's room.

Mina sighed and rose to her feet, berating her self-pity when others had a greater claim to it. After all, she and Jeff both knew they could die in the line of duty. It was a fact they had accepted when they took on their respective roles, whereas all these kids should have been happy and safe.

Fatigue brought on by pain and grief dragged at her limbs. What she needed was rest but, first, she decided to check on Brent one more time. As she walked along the corridor to the ICU room, where he lay following a life-saving operation, she felt angry that his wife had been conspicuous by her absence. Not once had Marge Marken come to the hospital, even leaving their daughter to cope alone with both her injuries and the possibility of losing her father; alone until Brent's sister arrived. However, Virginia Wells would not be able to stay by her brother's side indefinitely, no matter how much she wanted to. Even so, Mina had seen her resolve wavering; had seen her close to abandoning the extremely important business that affected the livelihoods of hundreds just to stay close to her critically injured brother and her niece.

Earlier, Mina had assured Virginia that she would watch over Brent until she returned in a few days time, but with the evening wearing on, Mina knew she needed to change out of her bloodied uniform.

It was late as she made her way to the bank of elevators, having stopped off to check on Brent and found Virginia staring at him through the ICU window with her posture unnaturally tense. Mina had decided to leave her to her thoughts, and she caught the elevator down to the ground floor. As she stepped out, however, she caught sight of a reflection that made the hair at the back of her neck stand up and the rage of grief rise inside her.

Images of Leonard Marliston assaulted her, seeing his long dark wig with the white stripe and his heavily made up face and red fingernails. She swallowed hard and reached for her service revolver, only to freeze as the familiar figure turned in profile to reveal a woman's face. Mina realized whom she was seeing, and she frowned, wondering why Loralee Marliston had come to the hospital... and then Mina recalled the stiff posture of Virginia Wells.

Hunsan had been one of the deputies who had raced to Marliston's basement, and he had discovered the small stack of love poems and letters addressed to Brent; he brought them into the hospital to show Mina. The letters spanned more than quarter of a century, with the last one dated only days before Leonard Marliston took up his teaching post at the high school. It all spoke one word to Mina: obsession.

Loralee Marliston was obsessed with Brent Marken, and Mina had a good idea that she had come here tonight to see Brent, but had been confronted by Brent's sister.

Against her better judgment, Mina followed Loralee from the hospital, glad that a cab had been waiting for a late fare. It took only a moment for Mina to guess where Loralee was headed, and she asked the cab driver to drop her off at the corner closest to the Marken residence.

The door to Marken's home opened to Loralee's insistent knock just as Mina came up the path behind her. Her unexpected arrival caused shock on the faces of both Marge Marken and Loralee Marliston, but it was Loralee who recovered first, demanding to speak with Marge.

In all her years as a police officer, Mina had learned to read people's faces, and what she saw on Marge's was shock. Unfortunately, the other clues as to why neither of them were wanted escaped Mina at the time as her senses were dulled by pain, grief and fatigue... and by plain curiosity as to what Loralee could want with Marge Marken.

Eventually, the three of them stood in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs while Loralee revealed her warped sense of propriety over Brent Marken.

"He should never have been yours. He didn't love you... and it's apparent now that you never loved him or you would be by his side, giving him strength. I could have been his life... but you and that bitch, Carolyn, stole him away from me. We could have been happy together with our son--"

"That psycho that you call a son had nothing to do with Brent, and believe me, if would have taken more than you to ever make him happy."

"Oh yes... those old rumors that you and Carolyn spread about him, hoping to keep him all to yourself? Well... perhaps you should have listened to the rumors about *you* and her... The Ice Queen and the Queen Bitch. What he needed was a real woman. A woman who would have given him everything he desired."

Marge laughed hysterically as she staggered on behind Loralee into the bathroom, where Loralee preened in front of the mirror over the washbasin.

"What did you ever have to offer him?" Loralee's reflection looked straight into Marge's eyes. "You were a bitch then, and now you're just a drunken whore, spreading your legs for any man willing to buy you a drink at the Gold Digger"

"Why you bitch..."

"And what about you... Deputy Mina?" Loralee sneered at her. "I've seen the way you look at him all gooey-eyed, following him around and finding consolation in some other woman's husband because Brent wasn't interested in you." She grinned. "So where is lover boy tonight? Lost his head?"

-ooOOoo-

"It happened so fast. I--I grabbed that rock from the side and slammed it into the back of her head. There was nothing Marge could do."

Mina looked at the sorrow and confusion on Brent's face, taken aback as she thought she would see his face relax in relief that she had confirm that his wife had not been the killer of Loralee Marliston. She watched as Brent's eyes closed, understanding that he had heard all that he wanted to hear, but Jack Malone wanted the rest.

"Whose idea was it to disguise Loralee Marliston's identity?"

"Mine. I recalled Mrs. Marken mentioning that she'd been a beautician at the mortuary many years ago, and I convinced her to cut and dye Loralee's hair."

"Did you assist?"

"No."

"If you arrived by cab, then how did you dispose of the body?"

"While Mrs. Marken dyed Loralee's hair, I took her station wagon and left it a block from the Sheriff's office. I picked up the keys to my cruiser and returned. When I got back she was on the phone, and I was afraid she would let on what had happened so I cut her off. We wrapped Loralee's body in plastic sheeting left over from when the conference room was decorated, and drove out to the lake. It seemed the perfect place to hide the body."

Brent laughed softly. "I always used to joke about how we'd rarely recover a body from the lake. Too deep and too wide to drag. Only chance of finding a drowning victim was to hope they floated close to the edge and got tangled in the overhanging branches or wood debris."

"Or got swept over the falls and caught up on the rocks." Mina sighed. "I never expected her to be found. In time her disappearance would have become a cold case, and then forgotten altogether. The dye was just an extra precaution just in case someone found her years later. To fool the Missing Person's database," she added with a rueful glance at Malone.

Jack continued on. "But Leonard Marliston's DNA went on file, and a lab technician decided to check for familial links after failing to find her DNA on record, which led to her identity being uncovered."

Mina bowed her head as McGraw stood up. "I need to take your badge, Deputy Mina."

With great reluctance, Mina handed over her badge to McGraw, and then she stood and waited for one of them to lead her away the cells.

-ooOOoo-

Throughout the interview, Martin remained silent as he stared at Mina through the observation window, but he spoke as soon as Mina stood.

"Sounds plausible. Fits the timeline and the evidence uncovered."

"It is," replied Danzig smugly. "We've got our killer. Motive, opportunity... and now a confession. Case closed. It's over." He looked at Martin and grinned. "Looks like you didn't screw up when you screwed Marken after all."

Martin bristled internally but it was not worth the official reprimand he would get for punching Danzig in his fat mouth. Instead he looked back at Brent, seeing him almost slumped over the table, head bowed and deep in thought. In some ways learning that Mina had killed Loralee was far worse than the killer having been Brent's wife. Brent had trusted Mina. She had been his right hand for years and, no doubt, a good friend too. Even Jack looked pensive, as if he had more questions that he felt he had no right to ask.

Martin saw Brent raise his head as Mina reached the door, escorted by McGraw. Then he heard the soft voice.

"Who are you trying to protect?" Brent turned to face Mina. "It can't be Marge. You didn't like Marge. You barely tolerated her, and even then just for my sake."

"I'm not protecting anyone, Bren. I told you the truth--"

"Well, that's questionable. For instance... there was no cab at the hospital that night. Hunsan picked you up and took you home around ten. He told me so on the night he drove me home; the night he was killed by Grazer."

Martin saw a hunted look cross Mina's face as Brent pushed to his feet to face her head on.

"And your cruiser? It wasn't at the station that night, remember. You were late so you hitched a ride in with Deputy Beau that morning, leaving your police vehicle on your drive with a flat." He grimaced. "I signed you out a car from the pool and left you to call Mason's Garage and get that flat repaired."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sheriff."

"Sheriff? A moment ago it was Bren." He chewed on the side of his index finger thoughtfully. "Is it me you're trying to protect?"

Mina remained silent but Martin could see the anger and frustration rising.

"I was in the hospital. I couldn't have killed her--"

She laughed without humor. "Of course you didn't do it... not then and not all those years earlier." Martin could see that she was trembling from the emotions held in check for all these long weeks. "You'd suffered so much because of that woman and her son. He tried to kill your daughter. He did kill all those kids... and Jeff... and he almost succeeded in killing you." Her expression softened. "It was touch and go, Bren. When I left the hospital that evening they were more confident you'd make it, but there were still no guarantees. And I couldn't stop the Media from dragging your name through the mud, and I didn't want to give you the extra grief of having your wife named a murderer."

"I need the truth... no matter how ugly. I can't live with any more lies." He looked at her imploringly. "Tell me the truth."

Her whole body seemed to slump inwards, and she moved back to her seat, dropping down.

"I saw Loralee Marliston at the hospital, just as I said earlier... but she drove off before I reached the parking lot and I had no idea where to, and I had no way of following. I called Deputy Hunsan from a pay phone, and he dropped by and took me home... and I sat there a while, thinking. And then I got so angry that you might be dying and that drunken whore of a wife of yours didn't even have the decency to go sit and wait out the worst at the hospital." She took a deep shuddering breath. "Do you know how many times I've almost arrested her for driving under the influence? How many times I've put her in the back of my cruiser and taken her home, with her reeking of cigarettes, booze and sex?" She brushed away the tears of anger and despair that she couldn't hold back. "I got so angry... and I drove over to your place intending to force her to get in the car and go comfort her daughter at the hospital, instead of leaving Jody waiting alone, scared you might die."

"What happened when you got there?"

"The door was open so I walked in... and she was on the phone, almost hysterical... but she slammed it down when she saw me."

"The phone call made to Virginia Wells," stated Jack.

"I started on at her but she was so damn drunk I don't think she heard a word I said. She was going on about Loralee and how she'd called her a drunken whore. How Loralee had told her all the truths I'd held back on for years. I figured that was who she'd been talking to on the phone. In the end I gave up in disgust and walked out... and I promised I'd sling her into a jail cell next time I caught her drunk behind the wheel."

"And that's it?"

Mina looked at Jack. "When you found evidence that Loralee had been murdered in Bren's home that night, suddenly it all made sense. Her hysterical phone call, the shock in her eyes... but I'd been too full of anger to notice all those details then... and after..." She paused, caught in her own thoughts for a moment before looking back at Brent. "You haven't got the nature to do the terrible things the Media were accusing you of all those years back... with those other boys. I knew you were innocent, and that everything would die down once it was proved. But the Town Council were already edgy, and they would have demanded your resignation if Marge had been brought up on murder charges -- or worse, fired you."

Silence fell about the room; heavy with the weight of another dark secret revealed, and it was Jack who ended it a moment later.

"You know the consequences of impeding a federal investigation?" She looked down, nodding her head, and he shook his in dismay. "Let her go."

McGraw stood aside as Mina gained her feet for the second time. When she reached the door she looked back. "You've always been a good friend and a good boss." She bit down into her lower lip. "It wasn't fair, Bren. You didn't deserve to keep paying over and over for the crimes of others. I just wanted to share the load."

Martin waited until Mina had left and then he entered the silent interview room with a very quiet Danzig trailing behind. Martin took a seat close to Brent and he watched him carefully, unsure how Brent had taken this latest blow.

"You do know what this means?" Jack leaned forward, placing both hands on the tabletop in front of him and letting his eyes move across each of the men present. "First... Loralee Marliston had a car. So where is it? And second... Harold McKay was lying."

-ooOOoo-

Brent watched as Martin rubbed his tired eyes Brent watched as Martin rubbed his tired eyes before going back to staring at the data rolling up the screen. If Loralee Marliston had a car then there would be some record of it somewhere. If it was a rental then there had to be an agreement with her name attached to it, though the company based at the local airport had no recollection of a woman fitting her description renting a car from them, and neither did they have any missing cars.

Martin looked across at him. "Seventeen women rented cars in the three days before Loralee's murder in Cherry Falls. Danzig has traced fourteen of them so far... all alive and well."

"If she rented a car under a false name then she would have needed false documents... and then there's the question of who returned the car... seeing's how none are missing."

"Maybe one of the rental staff noticed--"

"Not necessarily. People have been known to leave the car in the lot and post the paperwork through the door. Same thing could have happened here." Brent sighed in exasperation... then froze. "Wait a minute." He looked up at Martin. "According to Agent Spade, Loralee was at the old Sherman home the day I went to check it out. It's pretty remote, and I don't recall seeing a car close by." He sat back with a frown, trying to force those memories to the front...

-ooOOoo-

It had been one of those fall days where the sun tried to recall its memories of the summer gone by. It shone brightly but without the heat of those midsummer days, though its rays reflected brightly off the broken glass that lined the ground beneath the half-shuttered windows.

He had sat in the car for several long minutes after the checking out the abandoned home, wondering what could have spooked him so badly and strangely convinced that someone was watching him, though he dismissed that as his imagination working overtime. The place was deserted and yet the air had hung heavily inside as if weighted down by the memories of the past. He felt no sense of comfort there, only pain and misery.

He jumped when the radio crackled into life, answered the call and then set off back to Cherry Falls with a heavy heart. As he drove, he thought about the past and how it had come back to haunt the present, stopping at the empty crossroad about a mile from the dilapidated house and resting his head on the steering wheel for a moment. Brent was not certain how long he stayed that way, thinking about Loralee and price she had paid for his crime. He looked up and noticed a car parked opposite the junction, outside a row of small houses that led into the small township of David Springs, sighing in relief when he saw there was no one inside.

He turned the wheel and headed down the highway, knowing it would be dark by the time he reached Cherry Falls.

-ooOOoo-

"What kind of car?"

"No. Can't be the one." Brent shook his head. "It wasn't an old car... but it was still too old for a rental." He sighed in frustration. "And I can't recall seeing any others but..." he shrugged, "...who knows. It could have been hidden in the woods out the back of the property."

The phone rang and Martin picked it up, greeting the caller warmly but then he frowned. "What photos?" He glanced uneasily towards Brent. "Okay... I'll tell him." Martin licked his lips thoughtfully as he replaced the phone in its cradle. "That was Sam... Agent Spade. McGraw's people found photo albums in Loralee Marliston's home... and every photo inside was of you."

"Albums?"

"Seventeen albums spanning almost twenty years. Pictures of you on duty as a deputy, with Jody as a toddler in the park... Candid shots taken from a distance but with better camera equipment as time passed."

Brent shuddered as the thought he had tried to keep at bay finally sank in. Loralee had been stalking him for years, so why had he never noticed her? How had she managed to take those photos and yet remain unseen... or had she simply paid someone to take those photos of him? But some terrible sixth sense told him that she had been the one, and that she may have been less that twenty feet away from him on more than a dozen occasions over the years.... and yet he had not noticed her. Why?

"I need a recent photo of her."

"That's why McGraw's people were checking through those albums... but there wasn't a single one."

"Just photos of me?"

"And of your wife in compromising positions with other men. Perhaps she planned on using them some day... to turn you against Marge."

Brent pushed his hand through his hair, closing his eyes to try and block out the world for a moment. He opened them and looked straight into Martin's deep blue eyes, finding an ocean of comfort in there.

Martin grimaced, understanding how harrowing it had to be for Brent to learn that someone -- that Loralee -- had been stalking him for almost two decades. "We know she lived in New York, but she must have traveled back frequently to get so many different photos of you."

"Did Agent Spade have any idea how often she came into town?"

"Several times a year, and always on your birthday and on her birthday... according to the handwritten notes alongside the photos."

Brent shuddered, sickened to his stomach that she had been waiting on the edges of his life all these years, secretly watching him and his family.

"I feel like I've been walking around for twenty-five years with my eyes closed. How could she get so close to me without me seeing her... and recognizing her?"

"Wigs... make-up... glasses. Who knows?"

Brent looked deep into his lover's concerned eyes, and then pushed aside all his feelings of horror. She was dead now. She would no longer be haunting his footsteps through his life -- at least, not in the corporeal sense -- or even in any other sense, unless he allowed it. He needed to face this head on and vanquish it. He needed to negate the distress to him and use this new, unwelcome knowledge to find an end to this case.

"If she came here that often... then maybe she didn't use a rental. Maybe she had a car stored in a lock up close to the airport. Or..." He paused, feeling another sinking feeling in his chest, and stared hard at Martin. "What happened to her son's car?"

"It was brought in the day after the killings."

Brent pushed up from the desk where he had been perched for the past ten minutes and headed towards the back of the building where they stored any vehicles picked up during a felony. Marliston's car was standing in the far corner, and Brent recognized it instantly as the one he had seen out by the Old Sherman property that day. He used his teeth to pull on a glove before snatching up the keys from the rack by the door; he pushed through the security door. He knew Martin had followed on behind and that he had stopped just a step behind him, feeling relieved to have that strength and comfort at his back as he surveyed the car that had carried him from the High School to Marliston's home with abhorrence, even though he had no real memories of that journey.

Brent pulled opened the driver's door and operated the trunk release. The lid popped and he took several steps towards the back of the car and watched as Martin pushed the lid up the rest of the way. Inside it looked relatively clean but as they glanced at each other, Brent knew Martin shared his doubts. He watched as Martin shone a small but powerful flashlight around the trunk's interior, holding the beam over a dry brown stain in the bottom corner. Martin reached for his cellphone and called Jack, pocketing it the moment he ended the call.

"Could be my blood. Marliston had me in a... a trunk... in the trunk, and I'd have been bleeding badly from the head wound he'd inflicted."

"Yeah. It could be."

Several minutes later they stepped aside as the Field Forensic expert Jack and McGraw had collected along the way donned gloves and then pulled a small swab from his bag. He scraped the swab over the stain and then dripped a chemical onto the tip, watching as it turned bright pink.

"It's blood." He then performed another check and showed the two small indicator bars before announcing, "human blood."

"How fast can you get DNA results back?" Jack inquired.

"Depends if the person's on the database or not."

"At this time we're only looking for a match against Loralee Marliston. So make that your priority," stated McGraw.

The Forensic specialist nodded his understanding and rushed off, leaving Brent and the FBI agents staring at a vehicle that might just hold a clue as to who had killed Loralee -- or be yet another dead end. Brent sighed hard, knowing this car had sat here -- seemingly untouched -- since his deputies had transported it from Marliston's home. It had been seized as part of a crime scene after Jody had told FBI Agents Bronhill and Majestik how Marliston had pulled from it the heavy trunk that he had brought from the High School that night; the trunk holding Brent's semi-conscious and bloodied body. However, with Marliston dead after making his 'confession' of guilt there had been no rush to search for evidence linking Marliston with the murder of Tom Sisler.

Two more Forensic specialists arrived and Brent stood back as they set to work gathering fingerprints and any other evidence they could find. Jack came to stand beside him.

"Sheriff? They won't have all the evidence back for some hours, so why don't we grab a bite to eat."

Brent nodded slowly and fell into step beside Martin and Jack as they headed back inside. He stopped just outside the security door and looked up as the first stars appeared on the edge of the horizon, heralding the fall of night. Martin and Jack paused beside him, and he glanced sideways, seeing each man looking up too with awe on their faces, recalling how the skyscrapers blocked out a sight such as this from most city dwellers.

"Have you ever watched a full moon rise above the lakes?"

"No."

"It's beautiful... majestic. Makes you want to believe in all kinds of strange things... like ghosts and enchanted forests."

"And magic kingdoms where no one would ever consider hurting another," answered Jack.

Brent sighed and turned away, reaching inside his jacket for his security card but, instead of swiping it through the lock, he stared at it. He wondered if it, too, had played a part in the murder of Loralee Marliston, knowing it would have been among the personal possessions that Jody had taken home from the hospital that first day.

-ooOOoo-

Surreptitiously, Jack looked from Martin to Brent Marken as they ate, marveling at the ease with which the two conversed, seemingly oblivious to the way they casually shared the pizza set down before them all. Martin would reach across and cut slices for Marken, depositing the manageable pieces onto Marken's plate. In return, Marken would offer smiles that went beyond simple thanks into a shared intimacy that Jack would have found discomforting under normal circumstances, and yet it warmed him instead.

He had never seen Martin so at peace within himself. Usually, Martin acted like a driven man, as if he had to work harder than anyone else, come up with more ideas, and follow every lead to prove he was a part of the team under his own merit rather than because his father was a Deputy Director. With Marken, though, he was relaxed and eager to please in a far more wholesome way. Jack could see the strong bond that had already formed between them, recognizing the fierce protectiveness emanating from both men that seemed to embrace him too.

There were no awkward gestures between the two, as if they had witnessed the worst in each other and had accepted it as part of the package with pleasure rather than rancor.

If he had not already known before, then Jack would have had no doubts that their level of intimacy had gone beyond a deep but platonic friendship. He could see it in every smile, in every look, and in every touch.

The door to the small Italian restaurant opened and A.D. McGraw and Danzig stepped through, their eyes drifting around the room until McGraw spotted Jack in the booth near the back and gestured towards them. Jack made a quick comment to his companions and the instant transformation saddened him as Martin and Marken stepped back from their former level of intimacy to a more professional level. That sadness disappeared just as fast, in recognition of the trust they had shown in him only moments before.

The tension on the table mounted the moment McGraw and Danzig took a seat, and Jack saw a hardness enter Martin's deep blue eyes, turning them to cold sapphire as he -- almost visibly -- squared off against Danzig. Jack knew something must have transpired between the two for Danzig appeared equally defensive.

"Sorry to intrude on your dinner but the forensic results came back."

Jack raised an eyebrow. McGraw could have called him on his cellphone, which meant the news was not good.

"They found prints inside the car, on the steering column, gear lever and dashboard that matched both Leonard Marliston and his mother. So, your call was correct, Sheriff. We have found the car Loralee was driving on the day her son went on his rampage."

"Except... how did it get from the Old Sherman property to the High School in time for Marliston to dump me in the trunk?"

"We checked Marliston's home phone records. He made a call to a cellphone just after 5 p.m. and that number was traced to a Lorraine Lee Marken."

"What?" Marken leaned forward on his one good arm, his green eyes holding a shocked intensity that bore into McGraw.

Danzig leaned in too. "On the day after the murder of Annette DeWorlde, there was a Lorraine Marken booked on the first scheduled flight from New York. Leonard Marliston could have picked her up and brought her back to Cherry Falls, and still arrive back at the school in time to kill the boy, Timmy, and make that attempt on your daughter."

Jack could almost see Marken's memory of that night written in fear on the man's face. Despite Marken's attempts to teach some self-defense to his daughter, she had been knocked unconscious and dragged to a darkened biology lab, only awakening as her attacker tried to carve the word 'Virgin' into her inner thigh. Some how she had managed to beat off her attacker and her headlong flight along the corridors of the school had brought her straight into her father's arms.

Marken had been at the high school making a plea for vigilance to the parents of kids who fell into the killer's chosen victim category: virgin teenagers in their graduation year. He had pushed Jody into the arms of others and had raced off to try and take down the killer, finding only an open window and a deserted playground. Only later, when the identity of the killer had been revealed, would Marken have realized that the open window had been a decoy. Instead, Marliston had probably rushed away to remove the disguise and had then rejoined the distraught parents as they watched Timmy's body being zipped into a body bag and taken away to join his other victims in the morgue.

"She must have known what her son was doing."

"Probably," replied McGraw. "But she never intended for you to also become a victim of her son. She wanted you. Loved you in her own sick and twisted way, and she had seen how your friends treated you after that night when they raped her."

McGraw pulled out a sheet of paper and passed it to Marken, and Jack watched the myriad emotions crossing his face as he read the words upon it. He leaned back in his seat and handed the sheet to Martin; Jack read the words alongside Martin...

-ooOOoo-

My dearest Brent,

I watched from afar all these years, seeing your unhappiness broken only by the occasional moment of joy in your life. I know that it is I who should have been the one standing by your side, the one to give you the pleasure of family and home, but evil forces drove us apart on that wicked night.

One by one, the wrongdoers will pay for the misery they brought upon us, and for the lies they perpetrated against us. They have built empires both small and vast yet we shall see them crumble beneath the onslaught of truth as the Angel of Death, borne out of their evil, shall bring vengeance upon them in our names.

Be safe, my love. Be strong as the Devil's agents are cut asunder, for we shall be reunited for all eternity. One love and one heart.

Yours forever

Loralee

-ooOOoo-

"Where did you find this?" Asked Brent.

"Inside the car. It must have fallen under the seat, and because no one had touched the car since that night, it went unnoticed until today." Danzig glanced across at Jack triumphantly, as if he had scored points off Jack's team when, in reality, it had been Marken who had started the investigation of Marliston's car.

"What else did they find?" Jack looked from Danzig to McGraw, knowing that this letter was just the tip of the iceberg by the eager anticipation still lingering in Danzig's eyes. McGraw answered.

"The blood was Loralee Marliston's. This was the car the killer used to dump the body at the lake."

"We also found a palm print on the trunk lid. Your wife's... but no other prints in the car."

"Martin..." Marken cleared his throat. "Agent Fitzgerald suggested checking the key fob for fingerprints."

Jack had the pleasure of seeing Danzig's triumphant gleam fade. "There was a partial on the key itself... Harold McKay's."

Martin grinned. "Then let's see what he has to say--"

"We can't," interrupted McGraw. Jack could read the frustration and anger lurking just the surface. "Deputy Director Fitzgerald released him from custody almost three hours ago at the request of Senator McKay. He's long gone."

"Damnit!" Martin swore and struck his fist against the tabletop. He sighed and looked to Marken. "I'm sorry."

Jack did not need Martin to explain why he was sorry. The evidence had implicated Marge Marken in the murder from the start and now, even if she had not struck the fatal blow, she had become an accessory to that murder when she helped McKay dispose of the body. The rest of the apology had been unnecessary for Jack knew that Marken would not hold Martin accountable for his father's actions. However, others would be baying for Fitzgerald blood, and if they could not reach Fitzgerald senior then they might go for his son instead.

Jack had no intention of letting that happen though. Martin was one of his people, and since he had come to work for him he had proved that he had earned his position on the Missing Person's team, and Jack would allow no one to say otherwise. McGraw's next words held an element of finality.

"We have agents stationed at all the international ports and airports but we have it on good authority that he's already left the country. Extradition teams will have to take it from here on in." He stood up and offered his hand to Marken. "Sheriff, it was a pleasure working with you."

Marken stood and grasped the hand firmly. "Likewise."

They watched as McGraw and Danzig left the restaurant, and then Marken sat down, staring morosely at the remaining slices of now-cold pizza. Jack looked from Martin to Marken, understanding the new fear that lay between them. The case had come to an end... and now it was time to pack up and go home.

-ooOOoo-

Martin watched as Jack excused himself and left them in the restaurant to finish their meal alone, grateful for this chance to be alone.

"Who do you think murdered Loralee?"

"Harry McKay." Brent raised a hand to ward off any questioning until after he had finished explaining his reasoning. "If Marge had murdered... if she'd been the one to deliver the fatal blow then she wouldn't have made a frantic call to Ginny. Not if she was already being helped to cover up the crime."

Martin's nodded. "Which implies it was McKay who killed Loralee and made your wife an accessory. Then he leaves to find a way to dump the body without anyone being any the wiser."

"Don't get me wrong... Marge was no innocent caught up in this. She had the chance to tell Mina what had happened but instead she chose to help McKay disguise and then hide the body." He cast his eyes down and sipped at his beer, but then looked back up at Martin. "I'm just surprised Harry managed to keep all this from his sister."

They stared back at the remains of the meal. There was still plenty left but Martin could see that they had both lost their appetites. Martin had one more question related to the case uppermost in his mind.

"What's going to happen about Mina?"

"I talked to McGraw while you were setting up the search for Loralee's car. FBI won't be pressing charges. Decided to let it stay a local matter." He laughed with little humor. "Guess we've all been guilty of trying to take the blame for the actions of others. I called Mina back in and told her I was docking her pay for three weeks... back-dated from the day she first realized Marge had been involved in the murder. Told her I figured that if she hadn't been acting like a Police Deputy then she ought not to get paid for being one."

The silence lengthened until Martin could not bear it any longer. He needed to know what would happen to *them* now the case was over.

"What about us?"

"I can't live in the city... and you'd be a fool to leave Jack's team and take a tedious job out in some FBI field office."

"So... where does that leave us," asked Martin quietly, already feeling the weight of loss as coldness clutched at his heart and soul. He felt sick at heart, hating the thought that perhaps his father had been right all along, and that he had given everything to this man only to see his heart shattered.

Brent gave a tiny smile, and then his eyes crinkled in concern and with what seemed to be a certain amount of shyness. He pursed his lips as if choosing his next words very carefully.

"I'd best tell you what my plans are... and see if they fit in with yours."

Martin pushed the dishes away and leaned forward, with questioning thoughts vying with the numbness slowly creeping through him.

"I've been offered the sheriff's position in a small community about a forty minute drive from the Holland Tunnel." Brent looked at him askance, as if trying to decipher the blank expression on Martin's face. "You ever considered commuting into Manhattan?"

Martin blinked in shock as the words pierced the shield he was raising to protect his heart, and he stammered his reply. "I-I... No...but... I have now."

"And?"

"Is this small community going to have any problems with their sheriff living with another man?"

"I wouldn't have taken up the offer if I thought there'd be a problem." A tremulous smile lifted the corners of the soft, beautiful mouth. "I'm not hiding any more, Martin. They know who I am and they know what I am, and it doesn't worry them."

Martin grinned brightly. "So when do we go house hunting, or does that come with the job?"

Brent reached across and drew Martin into a sweetly passionate kiss, uncaring of who might be watching them within the restaurant. He was leaving this place and all its years of subterfuge and regret far behind him, and was now looking forward to starting afresh in a new place with a new life. He had already spoken with Jody, and she had asked if she could finish her last year of high school in Cherry Falls. It seemed ludicrous to take her away from all her friends so he had made the necessary arrangements with Mina, who had been offered the Sheriff's position on his recommendation despite her recent reprimand. Jody would always have a home with him when she wanted it, and better still, she seemed more than happy to share that new home -- and her father -- with Martin.

All Brent had needed was a 'yes' from Martin to make everything perfect.

Brent drew back, knowing he was grinning like a dope, and pleased to see an equally goofy expression on his lover's face. He hadn't felt this good since the day he held his baby daughter in his hands for the first time, and the time before that now seemed more than a lifetime ago, when he was just a little kid. He had a strong feeling that Martin had not felt this kind of joy since his childhood either, and perhaps it was this similarity between them that had helped to forge such a strong bond from the start.

"If we want to catch the next flight back to New York then we'd best get moving," Brent stated with soft laughter tingeing his voice, knowing he had no intention of sleeping at Ginny's apartment that night. With a heated look in his eyes he conveyed his true intent to Martin. Martin rewarded him with sight of a flush rising in his cheeks and the sparkle of lust glittering in his eyes as they raked over Brent with approval.

Brent looked across for the waitress, the stain in his cheeks darkening when he realized he had little to do to attract her attention as most eyes in the restaurant were already upon them. She brought across the bill and he paid quickly, leaving a generous tip on finding no condemnation in the older woman's warm eyes.

-ooOOoo-

Epilogue:

The wail of the police siren died away as both cars pulled over, and he watched as the familiar, lean figure of the man he loved stepped out of the police cruiser with a dark blue hat in hand. The pale blue shirt had deep blue pocket adornment all neatly buttoned down, and was finished with a plain, deep blue tie clipped into place. He wore a dark blue police jacket, undone despite the crispness of the early-winter day, with highly polished gold buttons glinting in the weak sunlight. On the jacket sleeves near the shoulder lay the insignia for the Clarke County Sheriff's Department, and on his left breast was pinned the gold star that declared him to be the sheriff.

The sheriff covered the soft blond of his hair with the dark blue hat and then stepped towards the car, flexing one shoulder subtly as he walked to the driver's door; Green eyes widened in shock when he saw the man seated behind the wheel.

"This is for Margie..."

The sound of a gun echoed through the stillness of the day as the man he loved flew backwards to lay spreadeagled and still on the cold, snow-dusted ground...

Martin's eyes flew open and he gasped loudly as he shot up in the bed, the cover falling down to pool in his lap. With fingers trembling in terror, he reached for the pale figure lying beside him, sighing his relief when they encountered warm flesh. He leaned in to nuzzle the soft skin beneath the exposed ear where blond hair feathered against his lover's neck.

Brent stirred and moaned softly as he eased over onto his back, seeking Martin's body, which had been spooned up behind him so intimately only a short while ago. He stared blearily upwards.

"You all right?" He asked.

"Yeah... just a dream. I'm okay. Go back to sleep."

"Okay," came the sleepy response.

Brent closed his eyes, quickly falling back into an exhausted sleep. His swollen lips curled into a smile as Martin leaned in to bestow a gentle kiss upon them, and he sighed deeply in contentment. Martin wrapped one arm over his sleeping lover and then watched him sleep, finally succumbing to his own fatigue as the night drew on.

Martin awoke to the wondrous sensation of a morning erection made more pleasurable still by the warm tongue that lapped across the flared head, delving into the shallow valley to brush over the tiny bundle of sensitive nerve endings. Delicious spikes of passion lanced though him, tingling every nerve ending in his body. When the hot mouth completely engulfed him, he groaned aloud, rocking his pelvis back and forth as he gently fucked the heated, wet cavern of his lover's mouth.

He felt the first tingle of impending orgasm ripple through him and he cried out in frustration as Brent pulled away with a mischievous light dancing in his lust-darkened, green eyes. Lips descended to kiss and mark his belly with gentle love bites, gradually moving away from his straining flesh to capture and nibble at a taut nipple while strong yet gentle fingers teased at the other. Martin grabbed a handful of the blond strands and tugged none too gently, trying to pull Brent's head back down to his almost painful erection in a demand for completion, but Brent pulled away with a soft chuckle.

"Uh, uh. Got other plans for that." He grinned up at Martin as he rolled them both over until Martin was on top, lying between Brent's spread thighs. "See?" Brent rolled his injured shoulder, showing the flexibility of the unstrapped and strengthening arm. "Good as new. Well... almost," he added as an afterthought, with raised eyebrows. His eyes smoldered, lips parted provocatively as he looked deep into Martin's eyes, and his voice was soft and low, almost a whisper. "Fuck me."

Martin gasped as Brent's hard shaft nudged against his belly, trapping their erections between them long enough to send shivers of anticipated ecstasy quivering through him.

"Don't want to hurt you," he whispered back raggedly.

"You won't... except in a good way." He drew Martin into a deep and sensuous kiss then pulled back slightly, reiterating his desire in a low, determined voice. "Fuck me, Martin."

The need to find completion was overwhelming, and Martin could no longer resist either the hypnotic voice or the heated body writhing gently beneath his own as they ignited his passion. Strong legs parted further at his insistent touch, opening the way to the hidden entrance to his lover's body. His fingers gently pinched the soft flesh of inner thigh, then stroked across the taut, velvet soft flesh to the tight ring of muscle, his eyes widening in surprise when he found his prize already prepared.

"Pretty sure of yourself, Sheriff."

"Know what I want and how to get it, G-Man."

Martin chuckled, his grin widening as his questing, penetrating fingers brought a gasp of pleasure from his lover.

"Like that?"

"Oh yeah..."

He rubbed against the sensitive place again, enjoying the way Brent's eyes glazed over and his hips writhed in wanton pleasure. Knowing his control was fading fast; Martin eased back his lover's legs and pushed his passion-lubricated shaft against the well-greased and loosened hole, gasping in pleasure as he breached the strong muscle to sink into the heat of his lover's body.

It was incredible, feeling the tightness surround him like a silken glove, all too aware that this pleasure went beyond the physical. This was the man he loved; a man who completed him in all ways, like the missing half of his heart and soul. He had defied his father and some of his peers to be with Brent, willing to lose favor and promotion prospects if it meant he could have this man in his arms and in his bed for the rest of their lives.

The need to fully possess his lover and to consummate his love with an act of passion overwhelmed all other thoughts. He thrust deep into the welcoming body, barely aware of the legs that wrapped tight around his waist, or of the heels digging into his back as they eagerly encouraged him to thrust harder and faster.

Martin cried out triumphantly as he came, pumping his essence deep inside his lover even as his belly was washed in the heat of Brent's release.

He floated back to earth slowly, the pleasurable lassitude of heavy limbs pulling at him as he collapsed on top of Brent's strong and healing body. He slipped to one side, groaning as he pulled out of the hot, slippery channel. Then he grinned and kissed the sweat-matted hair lying over his lover's forehead. This had been another first time for both of them, as taker and taken, possessor and possessed, and he knew from the soft murmurs of contentment that Brent had no injuries or any disappointment.

Martin leaned onto one elbow and let his eyes drink in the beauty of a body that had been given to him so willingly only moments before. Lifting one hand, he allowed a single finger to trace the livid scar on Brent's chest and shoulder. He kissed the scar tissue, and then swept his tongue along the length of it, bringing a shudder of ticklish delight from his tired but satisfied lover.

Two hands captured his head between them, and drew Martin down for a kiss that seemed to last a lifetime as they sucked and caressed and licked and bit while their tongues danced and tasted every millimeter of each other's mouths in equal passion and possession. Finally, the stickiness of sweat and semen lying between them overcame the pleasure of their kiss, and they parted unwillingly.

Martin rolled onto his back, pulling at Brent until his lover lay on top. He looked up into sated, green eyes that glowed in contentment, his hands weaving through the sweat-darkened blond hair to push back the strands stuck to Brent's temples... revealing the burn mark from a bullet that had passed too close for comfort.

"Is that what you were dreaming about again," asked Brent.

Martin sighed deeply as he gave a reluctant smile, while his eyes focused on the bullet graze that had nearly ended his lover's life just a few days ago.

"He's dead, Martin. It *is* all over now."

Martin shuddered as he recalled seeing the approaching flashing lights on the highway as he drove towards New York in the early morning, three days ago…

-ooOOoo-

The blue Mondeo slowed and then stopped with the police cruiser rolling to a halt only ten feet behind. Martin slowed as well, silently coming to a standstill on the edge of the highway opposite as he watched his lover, donned in his new Sheriff's uniform, approach the car. The short hairs at the nape of Martin's neck rose sharply as he saw Brent lean down to speak to the driver, and then came the retort of a gun and the sight of Brent falling backwards with red blood splattering onto the light dusting of pristine white snow.

Martin flung open his door and grabbed his gun from its holster as he raced across the quiet highway. Through the car's passenger window he could see the man open the door and lean out, aiming the gun at Brent's head as he yelled at Brent's unmoving body. The stillness of the day brought the words to him clearly as Harold McKay blamed Brent for the death of the only woman he had ever loved; a woman he had been willing to kill for, defending her honor when Loralee called Marge a drunk and a whore.

Unable to get a clear shot of the man threatening Brent's life, he bellowed out his rage and grief, distracting McKay for a few vital seconds, and giving Brent time to draw his own service revolver and fire.

Until that moment, Martin had thought Brent already dead, and he dropped to the cold ground beside his now unconscious lover, ripping off his jacket and pressing it against the bloodied wound on Brent's temple. The driver of the car who had stopped behind Martin's raced forward, and Martin ordered him to keep the material pressed against Brent's head wound while he fumbled for his cellphone and called 911...

-ooOOoo-

"He's dead," Brent whispered as he pulled Martin down for another kiss, "and I'm alive."

Martin grinned, feeling some of the fear loosen its tight grip upon him. "Are you sure? You smell a little ripe to me." He sniffed loudly.

"Well I know who's to blame for that, G-Man."

Martin ducked as Brent dragged the pillow from the bed beside him and aimed it at his head. They wrestled for a moment until Martin gained the upper hand and pinned Brent down on the bed.

"Not going to be so easy once I've finished rehab on this arm and shoulder," Brent warned with a grin.

"So you say."

Martin leaned in and claimed his victory in a slow, burning kiss, reluctantly pulling back as the alarm clock sounded beside them; he reached over and switched it off, already resenting the hour it would take to get into work when he could be spending that time wrapped in his lover's arms. Still, it was the best of both worlds, and he even managed to beat Danny and Jack into the office most mornings, despite them having only half the distance to travel compared to him.

He thought about all he had gained; sitting on the back porch enclosed within his lover's arms as bright stars glinted in a smog-free, skyscraper-free sky; the long nights spent making love; rising together to watch the first streaks of the dawn lighten the sky, and then falling back into bed until the alarm clock demanded attention.

Yet, had it only been a week since they moved into this home? He felt as if he and Brent had been together for a lifetime, hardly recalling a time when there had been anyone other than Brent in his life, or in his bed.

Viv called it their honeymoon period, telling him to enjoy it while they could, but Martin knew this honeymoon would last a lifetime. He knew he would never tire of waking to find Brent's head on the pillow next to his, or grow too accustomed to the soft and sexy voice that beckoned to him with a siren's call. He knew that this was one partner who could fulfill all his needs; a lover who was fully cognizant of the life he led, and of the stressful load he would carry should a particular Missing Person's case catch at his heart. Martin knew he would never have to hide the pain he felt on losing someone because Brent understood it all too well.

Of equal importance, he understood the pressures surrounding Brent, and he thought he had understood the risk they both took in their respective duties too. What he had not expected was to see the worst case scenario played out right before his eyes. This time it had been a man bent on personal revenge, but there was no guarantee that it would never happen again, with some total stranger snatching away his happiness with a gun or knife.

"Come on. Jack's expecting you back in the office today... and I'm going back on light duty before they declare me a part-time sheriff and dock half my pay."

Martin leaned up on one elbow and laughed gently. He watched possessively as Brent eased his tender frame from the bed and walked stiffly towards the adjoining bathroom. He grinned, knowing he was the cause of Brent's discomfort, eagerly looking forward to adding many more years of that kind of discomfort to the beautiful frame.

Moment's later, Brent's soft voice drifted in from the bathroom, barely audible above the sound of the shower, yet causing Martin to grin anew when he realized his lover was singing away merrily, in contentment.

He sighed out his own contentment. One thing was for certain, no matter how little time they had together, and no matter how much his father still disapproved of his life's new direction, Martin had no intention of giving up Brent Marken... and that was the truth... and there was no question about it.

THE END


End file.
